Unknown Girl
by piper78
Summary: I haven't posted on FF in forever. All my other stories are on Ao3. I'm really hoping this one will be a bit different than what I normally do. Although I can not promise there will be no Bethyl babies (much later on in the story). In this story, Sherriff Daryl Dixon tries to help a woman with little to no memory of her past. Sorry, I'm not good with summaries. ;)
1. Unknown

"Let me the fuck out, man," the words were slurred, more of an angry belch. Luckily Daryl spoke fluent drunk.

"Not till you sober up. And don't puke all over the cell this time, Jesus."

It never got old, Jesus in the drunk tank. His real name was Paul. For some reason that escaped Daryl, everyone called him Jesus. When he was sober he was a good man with a calming demeanor. When he was drunk, which was happening far too often these days, he was an annoying little prick.

"Whatever Sheriff. This is unlawful arrest, Dixon." Jesus ran a frustrated hand through his hair, pulling out the tie that held his long hair back off his face. Unwashed wavy hair framed his face making Daryl curious just how long Jesus had been on this bender. Jesus would drink for days until he passed out or until Daryl forced him to sober up by locking him up.

He snorted out a laugh at Jesus's comment and continued to scroll through his phone, legs kicked out as he leaned against the desk that stood center in the room. The room itself was relatively large, along with his desk, there was another across from it. A bench lined one wall. A jail cell for temporary use, including drunks like Jesus, was bolted to the other wall.

The building that had housed the Sheriff's office for fifty years, maybe more, built sturdily with brick, was situated in the middle of the towns Main Street.

"Ya' ain't under arrest. I'm just keeping you safe from yourself until you're sober. Remember when you wrapped your truck around a power pole? 'Bout damn near killed yourself."

Daryl still wasn't sure how Jesus survived that one. Or why he kept trying to inadvertently harm himself. Jesus was young and if he kept this shit up, Daryl was sadly certain he'd kill himself sooner rather than later. He had potential and wasn't a bad guy. Just stupid when it came to alcohol. Because of this, keeping a close eye on Jesus had become a personal mission.

"Whatever, man," Jesus mumbled and flung himself down on the metal cot affixed to the wall. He was snoring within a minute.

Sighing, Daryl plopped down into the chair, running a finger over the mouse, brought his laptop to life. He readied himself for a long quiet night as sheriff of a small town in northern Georgia. He didn't mind though, if he wasn't here babysitting Jesus, he'd be at home chasing sleep that would most assuredly evade him. He'd rather be at the office.

He was fine with the doldrum, lackluster life he now led. After the life he had before, he actually sought out solace and was the reason, in part, why he took the job.

His life before had been anything but quiet. He had been good at what he did. The Army had served him well. And vise versa. When he came to the crushing realization that he couldn't save everyone, it was time to walk away from something that had been a part of his life since the day he enlisted when he turned eighteen.

When he left that life, and the subsequent dark period that came after, he came back home when he heard there was a need for a sheriff's deputy. The former sheriff, one that took the position well after Daryl left town, had been shot while on duty. He was in a coma for a while and when he came out of it, he no longer wanted to be sheriff. The two part-time volunteer deputies on staff were not interested or necessarily capable of full-time work since they were retired men in their mid-sixties. That left an opening to be filled.

The kicker, or so Daryl had been told, was that while Rick was in a coma, his deputy had moved in on his wife, Lori. When he finally woke up, she had divorced him and married his partner. They, along with Rick and Lori's son, moved about an hour away.

Quite the scandal for any town, especially a small town. And Rick was left a former shell of himself. Working sporadically at whatever he could find. Drinking often. Living life by a thinning thread.

Daryl hardly knew Rick but agreed with the townspeople that it was a sad story. Honestly, Daryl wondered how he managed to get himself shot. The majority of what he dealt with were speeding tickets, petty theft, the occasional domestic disturbance, and drunks. Jesus being the main offender in that department.

Unfortunately, meth was starting to make more of an appearance. They were slow to start that game, he only hoped they wouldn't speed to catch up with the rest of the nations raging epidemic.

Since the towns sheriff bowed out and the only pay-rolled deputy skipped town with the sheriff's wife, the city insisted Daryl hire a partner. In all honesty, in his opinion, a full-time deputy wasn't really needed.

The town council said he couldn't possibly work 24 hours and day 7 days a week so he reluctantly hired someone. A woman, Michonne Gurira. He didn't hire her just to irk the few old cronies still on the town's council that held firm to the idea that women shouldn't be in law enforcement, he hired her because she was qualified. Top in her class at the academy in Atlanta. The fact that the old men bristled at a female deputy was a side benefit. When he hired her, he hadn't expected she'd become one of his closest friends. It just happened to work out that way.

Their town was in a small, isolated area and he hardly turned off his radio, personally handling anything major that came in. The fire department was all volunteer. There were emergency services that could come from a nearby town if need be. It would take them a good twenty-five minutes to get to town which negates the purpose of emergency services to begin with. If you had a true emergency, you were by all intents and purposes shit out of luck. Your best bet would be to get to the nearest vehicle and road trip it to the next town over where there was a Grade C hospital.

People that lived in the area were a hardy bunch and knew how to take care of themselves and the majority preferred it that way.

Daryl had extensive medical knowledge and could keep someone alive that was injured. He always had an emergency kit with him, he only hoped it was enough to keep the person in need alive long enough to get them where they could receive the best help.

Some might say Daryl was a workaholic. If you asked him, and nobody did, he was dedicated to his job. He had no wife or girlfriend. No kids. His parents were long dead and his brother kept a fair distance between them since he came back to town and became sheriff. Merle had always toed the line of what was legal and what he wanted to do. So he figured it was best to stay clear of Daryl. Merle lived in the mountains towering above town doing God knows what with his common-law wife and many, many children.

He accepted long ago it was better that he didn't know what his brother did up there on the mountain ridge. Still, he made it a point to visit him on occasion if for no other reason than he was the only family he had left.

To Daryl, he had little else of importance in his life other than work. He was fine with that.

Daryl lived on the outskirts of town, close enough to be available when needed, but far enough out to be left alone when he wanted to be. It was a small one bedroom house the city provided that was in desperate need of repairs. He didn't mind the leaky ceiling or the ugly carpeting in the bedroom or the outdated kitchen. It was free and he didn't spend much time there anyhow.

. . .

"You get Jesus home okay?" Michonne asked Daryl when he returned to work that afternoon.

That morning he'd taken Jesus to where he'd left his vehicle at the towns only bar, went home got a shower and few hours sleep, and was now back at it.

Michonne was clicking away at the keyboard of the office's ancient computer. They employed a receptionist, but she didn't like computers much. It was her job to keep the calls that come in during normal business hours answered and direct the people that came into the office in the right direction.

"Got him to his truck," Daryl said, plopping down at his desk chair.

Without moving her head from its down-turned position Michonne eyed him. "You're too nice to him."

Daryl made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. "How so?"

"Maybe you should let his actions have repercussions." Michonne was a stickler for the law, more so than Daryl was.

"He spent the night in jail, this ain't no Ramada."

"He wasn't in jail," she said, using air quotes with her fingers around the words 'in jail'. "You don't even lock the door."

Daryl rolled a shoulder, booted up his laptop. "But he don't know that."

Their desks faced one another in the center of the room and when they actually sat at those desks they faced each other. He tried to ignore it but he felt Michonne's eyes boring into him. He suddenly became very interested in his email just to avoid her gaze.

"And why's that?" She was starting to sound like his 2nd grade teacher. And Daryl Dixon, why don't you have your homework done?

He sighed, giving in and telling her what she wanted to hear. "Because he's too drunk to notice that I don't lock the cell door."

Michonne let out a belly laugh and Daryl grunted. It was ridiculous, he didn't need Michonne pointing it out for him. They'd disagreed on the topic before. Daryl only wanted to help a young guy out and Michonne thought he was too lenient.

"I let him sleep it off before he hurt himself, or anyone else." He really didn't see what was wrong with it. It was his job to keep the townspeople safe.

"You're encouraging his behavior. Some might say you're enabling him."

"Oh, hell," Daryl said, rolling his eyes, chuckling. "Here we go."

"I'm just saying the longer you protect him, the more likely he is to descend into the alcohol he's slowly killing himself with. He knows you'll always be there to bail him out."

"Yeah, yeah. It's only happened a few times." A few, or over ten. Whichever. "Next time I see him I'll have a talk with him. I'm just trying to help him. Is that so wrong?"

"A talk?" Michonne asked passively. "Aww, you're just a big softy, ain'tcha, Daryl."

Without looking, he knew her perfect white teeth were showing and her nose wrinkled the way it did when she found something amusing.

"Shut it," Daryl joked, diving into the paperwork on his desk from the past week. "You could make a livin' teasin' me, ya' know that?"

"Sheriff Softy," Michonne hummed quietly in a sing-song voice.

He couldn't help it, she made him laugh. She was one of the only few that he let tease him, the only one close enough to him to do so. He had acquaintances. People he went to school with, a random distant family member or two but no one he truly could call a friend.

When he hired Michonne she pushed, sometimes hard. He honestly thought she was too nosey for her own good. As time went by though, he found himself letting her in. She was sneaky about it, he hadn't even realized he was opening up to her. Somehow she wormed her way in. And he was thankful she had.

"Coming to dinner tonight?" She asked after some time of simultaneous click-clacking at their respective computers.

"Huh?" He asked. She was always trying to get him to socialize. In his opinion, it was a downfall of hers.

"Dinner at my place. Six o'clock," she said without looking up from her keyboard.

"Uh uh. Someone has to stay here, hold down the fort. 'Sides, didn't you just have a cookout that I was forced to go to?"

"For starters, you know my house is only a block over, you'll bring the walkie with you anyway. The 'fort' will be fine. And for another, I had a cookout during the summer. And almost Christmas time now."

Christmas, ugh, the season of obligatory socialization. Okay, so maybe he wasn't that big of a Grinch. But still, peace on earth. Merriment. All that stuff, it put him off.

"Christmas is still a ways away," he reminded her. In response, she stared him down. Again.

He knew when he was losing a fighting battle. "Damn, anyone ever call you pushy before?"

"Only by those I care about," she said, smiling brightly.

Before they were able to continue their friendly bickering, the radio crackled to life interrupting them. Daryl was truly grateful. He didn't like it when she got mushy with her feelings.

"Michonne here," she said into the radio before Daryl could. He'd take all the action if she let him. It'd kill the man to just sit still and let someone else take over for a few minutes.

The county ran a 24-hour emergency call center. A revolving shift took turns answering the few calls that came in. Most people there were leery of anyone in an official capacity, that included emergency personnel. Townsfolk, especially those who lived outside of the city limits, took care of themselves. They were well versed in backwoods medicine.

While the call center wasn't ideal, it was all the county had the money for. Most calls that did come through were drunk people with non-emergencies and could be handled by the dispatchers. If they couldn't handle it, or if it was something actually serious, they knew to radio Daryl on his walkie-talkie and he'd either handle it himself or delegate it to someone else.

The dispatcher's voice rang out, her inflection distant and bored. "We got a 415. Possible drunk and disorderly at 2353 Cherry Street."

"I'll check it out," Michonne said into the mic, as she headed out the door, giving Daryl a nod.

. . .

The girl watched as her bare feet moved along the earth, seemingly independent of her body, as though they belonged to someone else. Reddened from the cold, cracked and bleeding from the rough terrain. Her legs pumped, carrying her somewhere else. Anywhere else. She didn't care where. Just not where she had been.

At this point, she had no idea how to get back from where she came anyway, but there was no way she'd turn back if she knew. So she followed her feet, panic coursed through her body so strong she was unaware of the pain that shot through her body with every hurried step.

How long had she been running? Her legs were becoming anvils, weighing her down. She quickly became frustrated with the pace she was limited to in her current state. Still, she forced herself to go. To move!

The late afternoon sun quickly gave way to darkness and she kept on until she no longer could. Disoriented by the dark, exhaustion clawing in, threatening to overcome her. She fell scraping her knee ripping her ankle length dress. A helpless groan sounded from somewhere deep inside as she forced herself up. Stumbling, she felt through the darkness with outstretched hands. Her long fingers were ghostly against the pitch of black that surrounded her.

Her hands came into contact with the solid bark of a tree. It towered above her and it'd probably take three of her to encircle its circumference. A gaping black hole stood like an open mouth at its base. Normally it would scare her, a mouth waiting to be fed, now she was too drained to care. Too exhausted to go any further, she curled up in the hollow of a tree, hoping no animal had already claimed the area and pressed her eyes shut. Closing out the darkness, trying desperately to shut her mind off.

Now that she was still, her body began to hurt. Her feet throbbed, her legs ached. Racing thoughts seared her mind. Up until that point, she only reacted. She had no plan, just one foot in front of the other, putting space between herself and where she had been. She still had no plan, only to rest for a short time before moving on again.

Her subconscious fought the stillness of her body and her eyes flickered open. Through the hole she could scarcely make out the canopy of tree limbs hovering what looked to be miles above, bent over menacingly, swaying in the wind, creaking and moaning an otherworldly language. Screams and screeches echoed all around, far away and simultaneously whispering in her ear.

She buried the right side of her head into the soft dirt and pressed a hand to her left ear, trying desperately to block out the sound. It wasn't enough though, it still made its way through. She began to hum loudly. A tune she had no idea from where it came. It must have been from before - a foggy time that made her head pound in between her temples when she tried to remember.

. . .

Somehow, nothing short of a miracle, she was able to sleep. Sheer exhaustion had eventually won out. She woke to a sliver of light shining through the bark aimed directly at her eye. Shifting away from the brightness, she peered out of the hole she'd taken shelter in. She felt infinitesimally small there on the floor of the hollowed out tree, the forest high above. She had no idea how long she slept, she still felt heavy and bone weary.

Knowing she couldn't remain there forever, yet at the same time, there was a strange pull tempting her to stay curled up even if it meant she might die there. The ambivalence she felt about her possible demise didn't really surprise her. At least her death would be on her own terms. At least she'd been safe inside that tree for a short time. Safe, though, was a relative term. She had no idea if someone was behind her or how close on her heels they might be. And what if they found her before she succumbed to the elements?

The thought forced her to move from her shelter. Lumbering out of the tree that had been her refuge and probably the saving grace that kept her from freezing to death during the night, she jumped when her feet came into contact with something cold and hard.

As her surroundings came into focus she realized where she was. Approximately two dozen gravestones surrounded her. Some tall, some short, some inset into the ground. All handcrafted, words roughly etched into stone. A cemetery, most likely family owned for generations. A shiver that had nothing to do with the harsh wind and her lack of proper clothing shook her body.

Slowly she looked down at her feet, still red but her toes now held a tinge of blue. Next to where she stood, there was a gravestone. The words etched into this particular flat slab of rock read Here lies the grave of an unknown girl.

A shrill scream began in her lungs and carried up through her throat. When the force of the scream made it to her mouth, nothing sounded. Air rushed from her lungs instead until it burned deep down in her chest. Her vision began to waver and black edged her peripheral vision.

Though she wanted to lay down and quit, she forced her legs to move. To run! To run away from the horrible place she'd been. And away from the fortuitous gravestone.


	2. We're Okay

**Don't worry, we're getting a little closer to Daryl and Beth actually meeting. **

* * *

Michonne stood at the doorstep of 2535 Cherry Street, knocked on the wood door twice in three rapid successions. No response. A beat up truck was parked in the drive. She noted the engine was cold as she briefly placed a hand on the hood as she walked past on her way up to the door.

Leaning over the iron banister she peeked through the gauzy curtained front window. No sign of anyone inside either. The home appeared empty of more than an occupant. It felt empty.

When she was a little girl, her mother called her empathetic. Said she was always soaking up other people's emotions.

What her mother said was true enough. She felt other people's moods. Felt their anger or sadness or happiness. Felt it inside her own body when someone was ill. Felt it when her mother became sick with cancer. Felt the phantom ache in her own body right where the tumor had grown inside her mother. She also knew the moment she died. In the middle of a sound sleep, Michonne sat upright in bed. Not sixty seconds later she got the call.

To her, it didn't feel like an ability so much as a hindrance. As she grew into an adult and a police officer she learned to reign in her own feelings and block others out. Using her empathic abilities only when she wanted to. Why would she voluntarily feel someone else's pain? On the other hand, it's why she became a police officer. She wanted to help. She thought of becoming a doctor, helping ease the pain others had. But she liked the idea of putting away the bad guys that sometimes caused the pain. She'd always had a penchant for righting the things that were unfair.

Even though she'd learned how to put her own feelings aside as well as others, occasionally though, like today standing on the front stoop of the yellow house, the empath beat her reasonable side to the punch and emptiness mixed with a hollow sadness hit her.

The crack of a gunshot caught her attention, bringing her back fully to her senses. She placed an open hand on the butt of the gun holstered at her hip. Quietly she walked back down the three concrete steps and along a path that once had been lined with flowers and was now filled with weeds. Cautiously she rounded the back of the house, following the popping firecracker sound.

Peeking around the corner, she saw a man holding a Glock outright, aiming at a makeshift target of empty beer cans that were set up on a fence post backing against a bank of trees.

Most likely it was nothing. Just a guy target practicing. In the middle of town. But you can't bet your life on "most likely". Flipping the release on the holster she palmed the grip of the revolver. The cool zig-zag pattern pressing into her palm was comforting. Solid. Real.

Michonne yelled authoritatively, "Police. Stop firing and put down your gun and step away from it!"

The man, long and lanky, spun around, his gun pointed to the ground. Weathered face. Blue eyes squinting at her, dark hair brushed back from his face laced with strands of grey. A greying beard adorned his handsome face. He stood about 5'10".

Michonne took all this in in a split second. It's what she was trained to do. The fact he was unquestionably handsome was neither here nor there.

"There a problem, ma'am.?" He asked in a slow drawn out Georgia accent.

"Put down the gun and there won't be," she demanded again and when he didn't respond, she unsheathed her gun. Pointing it toward the ground, she took a step out from behind the corner of the house.

The man put a hand up in mock surrender. "Okay, calm down." Moving his thumb to the correct button, he hit the safety and then disengaged the clip, placed both the clip and gun on the wood picnic table next to him.

Michonne only marginally relaxed. "Good. Now step away from it," she instructed.

The man actually had the gall to roll his eyes. Ever so slightly, but she saw it. "What's your name?" She asked.

He rounded the picnic table and sat on the other side, out of arm's reach of the gun. Reaching into his breast pocket, he retrieved a pack of cigarettes. He took his time lighting one, placing the lighter and the pack of smokes on the bench next to him.

He peered at Michonne through the haze of smoke he'd just exhaled. She raised an eyebrow in challenge. "You gonna' tell me your name, or do I have to find out myself?" She really disliked purposeful insubordination when dealing with an armed person. Admittedly, it did at least make the day a bit more interesting and she got the feeling he wasn't dangerous. Still, a cop could never be too cautious.

"I don't think that'll be necessary." Inhale, exhale, smoke floated around his precocious, yet sad, eyes. "Names Grimes. Rick Grimes."

Shit. The former sheriff himself. Michonne hadn't had the chance to meet him personally as of yet. He kept a low profile, kept out of trouble - until today. She'd heard the stories about him, some true, others, she was sure, not so true. You could only take what people said with a grain of salt. There was one person's truth, the other person's truth, then the actual truth.

. . .

Daryl didn't know how or why he let Michonne talk him into these things. She seemed to have an inordinate amount of get-togethers, most of which he got roped into going to. He told himself he wasn't going to this one. All the way home from the station. As he got home, as he turned on the tv and sat in his chair, settling in for the night, he was determined not to go.

If he didn't go, though, he'd catch hell next time he saw Michonne. It was easier to just show up for an hour and quietly sneak out.

At Michonne's two-story home Michonne lived in he made his way to the back entrance. It was a quiet neighborhood cul-de-sac down one of the side streets of town. Yellow siding with dark blue shutters, a backyard the butts up to a ravine giving the illusion of space when in reality she didn't own much more than the land her house sat on. It was perfect for Michonne and convenient to the station even if it was, in fact, two blocks from the station, not one block as she claimed.

Following a low tune of some pop song pumped through Michonne's Bluetooth speaker connected to her phone. He was certain of this because Michonne was predictable in a lot of ways. She'd definitely be playing something he never heard of and didn't like. Never any Lynyrd Skynyrd or Willie Nelson to be had at Michonne's.

Entering through the back door there no need to knock. No one else was there yet, or at least no other vehicles were parked at the curb or in the drive. He may have planned it that way. Arrive before anyone else and cut out early. Least amount of people interaction as possible. He might just be a damn genius.

As he made his way through the hall to the open concept kitchen and living room, Michonne was at the stove stirring something spicy scented in a big pot with one hand, a can of diet Dr. Pepper Cherry in her other hand. It wasn't surprising she was drinking soda despite the fact it was her night off. She didn't drink much. He never did. Things were pretty lax in their county, but they didn't want to risk being called out on duty and being a little tipsy. Besides, he'd wasted enough time on alcohol. He had no desire to go back.

"You came," she said, giving him a big smile over her shoulder.

"And miss all the merriment? Never," he retorted, making his way to the island that separated the kitchen and living area. His back to the marble top, he sat at a bar stool facing her.

Pulling his cap down low over his head to fight off the blaring setting sun that came through the sliding glass door opposite him. The trees swayed in the wind. It was one of those days where the sun shone brightly, but the wind was bitter cold. The weather had been mild up till then considering it was still the end of fall. He could still get away with a hooded sweatshirt in lieu of a coat during the day.

"Don't think you're leaving early neither. Don't you think for a second that I don't notice you slipping out quietly."

Damn, maybe he wasn't as smart as he hoped.

"Why are you so against socialization?" She questioned. "You are the Sheriff. It's good for people to see you in an unofficial capacity." She turned to face him, looked over him, the disapproval clear on her face. "Well, it's not like you gotta dress up or anything, but ya' think maybe you could wear something other than that ratty old sweatshirt and stained jeans?"

"Now that ain't fair. I normally wear my uniform shirt."

She rose that eyebrow at him, she knew as well as he that that's exactly what he wore under the sweatshirt.

In contrast, she looked festive in a low cut red sequined top and black skinny jeans that hugged her body nicely. She also wore make-up, something she never wore at work.

Before she had a chance to say anything else, he quipped, "Yeah, yeah. You know, you should just marry me. The way you nag me it's already like we're married."

Michonne threw her head back and laughed, her long dark braids banded by a tie almost reached her belt. "You couldn't handle me."

That was probably true, she was too smart for him. They were friends, co-workers. While she was attractive, smart, kind, good at her job. All admirable things as well as a smile that was enough to melt the toughest of men, it was best to keep things platonic.

Changing the subject completely, he asked, "What was the drunk and disorderly about? I was gone before you got back to the station. You were gone a long time."

She quickly turned back to the stove. "Hmm?" She asked. "Oh, on Cherry?"

Daryl squinted his eyes at her back, there was something she wasn't saying. The way she turned her back to him. There was something more that she wasn't going to give fully up to him. He read people and he read Michonne easily.

"Yeah. The one and only call we got all afternoon," Daryl reminded dryly.

"Oh, he wasn't drunk. Just target shooting. The people that called it in are new to the town, aren't quite used to people shooting for no reason."

"Well that is a residential area," he needlessly reminded her. It was a small town, people owned guns. It was just a fact of life in those parts. Shooting in the middle of a neighborhood in town wasn't allowed though.

"I reminded him of that. He knows the laws. Said he didn't realize anyone had moved in next door. He apologized, said he wouldn't do it again."

"Who was it?"

"Oh, umm," she hesitated momentarily. "It was Rick Grimes."

"Grimes?" He questioned, mildly surprised. "As in the former sheriff? He should know the laws then. Did ya write him a ticket?"

"Na', you know he is down on his luck, doesn't need more trouble."

"He's been down on his luck for a while now. Just cause he was an officer before doesn't mean he gets to break the law now."

"I know that. He knows that. But I think what he needs right now is a little compassion."

Daryl made humph noise deep in his throat. He wasn't so sure about that. "Kind of like Jesus needs my compassion once 'n a while, wouldn't ya' say?"

Now she did glance over her shoulder and grinned, subdued. "Touche." She tapped the spoon on the side of the pot as she spoke, "No more shop talk. It's finally the weekend. Have a soda and just relax. I know it's hard for you, but I think you can do it," she teased.

She was being evasive about something. It annoyed him but he let it go for now.

She says he should relax. Like it was that easy. He couldn't relax around a bunch of people. He had to be sheriff, even in his downtime. It was a position that meant he couldn't fully unwind. It had nothing to do with him, it was the job. Or so he told himself.

Nevertheless, he stood and made his way over to the stainless steel fridge. Reaching through various Tupperware containers of dip and a plate of veggies and a something labeled Hummus, as well as a few other leftover containers of Chinese food, he grabbed a can of Coke. He couldn't help but notice the six-pack of Miller Lite on the second shelf partially hidden by a gallon of milk.

Instinctively his hackles rose and it wasn't because he no longer drank. It never bothered him when others drank around him. It was like his taste of alcohol all but disappeared once he was settled back home and in the position of sheriff. No, he went on edge for a completely different reason.

He popped the top of soda, stood back up and took a long swig before he spoke, the carbonated bubbles tickled his nose. He wasn't one to mince words, bluntly he asked, "So, why the Miller Lite?" There was only one person they knew that drank Miller Lite that Michonne would specifically buy it for because she sure didn't drink that stuff herself. If she did drink she was a Budweiser kind of girl.

"Anyone that wants it," she answered evasively, busying herself with prepping a loaf of some sort of bread for the oven. The scent wafting through the air told him it was garlic bread.

Back at the island, he kicked out his long legs, rested an elbow on the counter behind him. "Anyone in particular?"

Michonne sighed, her shoulders rising and falling dramatically. "You damn well know who it's for."

Before he could respond, muffled footsteps sounded from the stairway in the back of the house where the bedrooms were. Well, he assumed that's where the bedrooms were, he'd never been upstairs.

He turned toward the sound as the footsteps got louder and the last person he wanted to see appeared from the darkened hallway. Mike, Michonne's ex-boyfriend. Or so Daryl thought he was her ex.

He was shorter, small of stature, skinny. Daryl would describe him as weasley.

"Hey there, Daryl," Mike said, slithering over to Michonne. Putting his spider leg like hands on her hips, leaning in, giving her an exaggerated hug from behind, a noisy kiss to her bare neck.

He didn't reply to Mike's greeting. Michonnes quick glance at Daryl, an apology on her eyes, didn't escape him. He sat his coke on the counter behind him, he suddenly wasn't thirsty. Or hungry. Mike might have others fooled, he didn't fool Daryl. He didn't think he fooled Michonne anymore either. Not after their last break up. Not after Mike's temper gained momentum over the months they were together and definitely not after it bubbled over and Mike shoved her across the room.

The guy was no good. Daryl had done his best to like him at first. Well, that wasn't quite true. He tolerated him for Michonne's sake. After all, there wasn't too many people Daryl outright liked. There were plenty of people he tolerated. His circle was small and he liked it that way. But he just couldn't like Mike. From early on he saw right through him.

Daryl had been relieved when they finally broke up after a long and tortuous, for both him and Michonne, year. Apparently, and unfortunately, Mike was back. The way he leaned into Michonne, nuzzling her neck, Daryl wanted to punch him so he just looked away instead.

. . .

The dinner went onward regardless of Daryl's dislike for Mike. There was a good number of people there which made it a little easier to ignore him. He was boisterous and loud. The guy seemed to seek Daryl out. They both knew of his dislike towards him. Daryl made that abundantly clear when Michonne dumped his ass and Daryl was lucky enough to be a witness to it.

He stayed in pretty much the same spot, doing his best to blend in as they all sat around the kitchen island and as they mingled about before and after the meal. People would find their way to him, made small talk, then moved on. Small talk, socializing, dinners - they just weren't his thing. Work. Being out in the woods. Being alone or with the few people he tolerated. Those were his things. Michonne was correct in surmise that he needed to be seen among people if he expected people to trust him in an official and unofficial capacity.

For the most part everyone did accept him. It was rough going at first, him being a Dixon. No one really believed he'd be a good sheriff because of his family history. He kept his eyes down and stayed focused, did his job. Those who were suspicious of his ability came around eventually.

His appetite returned, and ate two helpings of dinner, talked to everyone that talked to him and was now ready to call it a night. At the late time of nine p.m. It was an hour past what he initially planned staying for. He wanted to scope things out. Just how serious were Mike and Michonne? Pretty serious if you judged it by the fact that he hardly left her side. Was always touching her, holding her hand, a hand on her arm. It made Daryl simmer deep down.

A light elbow to the arm caught Daryl off guard and he turned to see Connie, a friend of Michonne's, scoot up to the stool next to him. She was deaf but that didn't harm her communication skills much.

She scribbled something on the little pad of paper she carried with her, slid it over for him to read. "What do you think of that?" When he looked back up to her for clarification she looked pointedly at Michonne and Mike.

Daryl shrugged. "It won't last long," he told her quietly, hoping no one was eavesdropping.

More scribbling, "How do you know?" Her eyebrows rose in question, worry creased her forehead.

"Just do," he reassured, brushing a hand over hers to which she smiled. "Don't worry. Ya' know Michonne can handle herself."

Mildly comforted, she then wrote, "It's good to see you out, call me sometime. We can hang out."

Daryl nodded, watched her walk away. He found Connie intriguing. She was sweet. Smart. Sassy, if he used words such as sassy. And they shared their dislike for Mike. Something told him she was interested in more than hanging out. But being sheriff also made dating difficult. Well, in all honesty, he made dating difficult. Along with it being difficult, he didn't want to hurt Connie and inevitably that is what he'd do. People, relationships. That just wasn't his thing either.

Mike was loading the dishwasher, showing off what a "great" guy he was when Daryl finally had had enough and cut out.

He was halfway to the Bronco parked at the curb when Michonne caught up with him. She had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Once the sun had gone down, the wind had turned brittle. Their breath puffed out in little clouds of smoke on the cold air under the dim yellow street light.

"Hey," she said a few steps behind him. Grasping him by the elbow to stop his long strides he was taking to get the hell out of there. "We okay?"

"Why wouldn't we be okay?" He asked. He'd never let Mike or anyone come between them.

"You know why."

He dropped the facade. He'd hoped to avoid this conversation altogether. Michonne had other plans. He could always count on her to say what was on her mind. More so if it made someone uncomfortable. She said the most important conversations were usually uncomfortable. And this conversation would definitely make him uncomfortable. Anything the consisted of sharing one's feelings made him uncomfortable.

"Listen, it's your life. Far be it of me to tell ya' what to do. You know how I feel 'bout him. But you're a grown woman, ya' can date whoever you want." Even an asshole like Mike.

"Daryl," she appealed for him to understand.

"He ain't good for you," Daryl told her, not for the first time. "Just know when he hurts you again, I'll be there."

Surprising him, Michonne's eyes shone with unshed tears in the streetlight.

Damn .

"It's not like last time. It'll be different."

She was so smart, why did she have such poor choice in men? Or, in this man in particular. "Do you really believe that?" Taking a step towards her, he asked genuinely concerned.

She didn't answer. After a few seconds, he spoke again. Softer, only when he tried to speak gentler, his voice just became gruffer. "You best get back inside, it's cold out here tonight."

Instead of turning to go, she only stared at him, pleading with her eyes. He rose a hand and lightly touched her cheek. Thankfully those tears did not fall. If they had he'd have to go beat Mike's ass right now. A preemptive beating of sorts, one that happened before Mike had a chance to hurt her again.

"We okay?" She asked again.

"We're okay."

She smiled thinly and he nodded in return. Nothing more really needed or could be said that hadn't already been spoken. Words weren't necessary. He had her back no matter what.

. . .

Now what? She couldn't go back. Wouldn't know the way even if she wanted to. Couldn't go forward, didn't want to risk getting further into the forest and up the mountain and becoming more lost. She needed to find a way out.

When she came to a clearing a shack came into view. The main part of the house was once a cabin years before. It'd seen better days. It had been added on to with plywood, metal sheeting, and a mix of different length boards.

Taking in the landscape, the makeshift home, the broken down cars surrounding the house, the ancient truck in what was the driveway - a path that led from the clearing through the woods, machine parts strewn here and there, a playpen with the netting ripped out, she hit a mental as well as physical, wall. She was unable to move any further. Frozen, she leaned against an oak tree. Breath ragged, as much from exertion as well as panic. She tried her best to slow the puffs of air that rushed from her lungs. Her shaky legs slowly gave away and her knees met the solid earth.

Smoke spiraled from the chimney of the house before her. She wanted badly to go to the house. Knock on the plywood door. Walk in. Be enveloped by the warmth of the fire.

This house was in the middle of nowhere up on the mountain, it was clear whoever lived up here wanted to be left alone. What if the people inside weren't friendly? What if they were like the others. One thing she had learned in the last few years was that you couldn't trust anyone. Sure, the average person was friendly, helpful, at first, but eventually, they'd show who they truly were.

She leaned her head against the dense bark of a tree behind her, closed her eyes, stuck in her ambivalence. The plywood door opened a crack and a woman stuck her head out, eyeing her suspiciously. She was too exhausted to care.


	3. Winter's Bone

Daryl and Michonne didn't talk any further about their conversation after the party. They went on with their friendship and jobs just as they always did. It killed him to let things be of course. To sit back and let his closest friend be hurt again went against his grain. And she would be hurt again. He'd let it be. For now. He'd be there when she needed him.

At any rate, it wasn't that she needed him. She was tough, handled herself fine. He'd be there for her, as one friend to another would when they found themselves in a not-so-great situation.

In the Army, relationships are usually intense and forged quickly. They are also based on a need. You needed the man or woman standing next to you to have your back to help keep you alive. Trust was imperative. When he got back to civilian life, he, like lots of other people straight out of the military, struggled. He had no use for casual friendships or relationships. He didn't have the patience for shooting the shit at the corner bar. It felt pointless. Everything felt pointless.

Michonne was the first real friend he had outside of the Army. She understood if he was short on words, or didn't want to talk. Though he teased her about being pushy, in reality, she pushed him just enough in just the right way. She was there for him, and so he'd be there for her.

. . .

Per usual, Daryl worked until he crashed, today was no different. He got to the station bright and early and went non stop ever since. He didn't make it home until dark was just beginning to take hold of the sky.

He showered, crawled into bed in only a pair of boxers, shaggy hair still wet. The cold December wind whistled through the single pane windows of his bedroom. Burrowing down into the bed under the heavy quilt he'd had for years, he sighed wondering how long it'd take him to fall asleep tonight and how many times he'd wake up. He refused to take the prescription sleeping medication that resided in the bathrooms medicine cabinet.

After some time he had just dozed off, welcoming the pitch black of the back side of eyelids when his ever-present radio scratched to life from where it sat on his nightstand.

"Daryl, you available?" Marge, the night dispatcher's voice crackled over the radio. She sounded like she smoked two packs of Marlboro Reds a day, which she probably did.

Contemplating not answering it for all of a second, he blindly reached over in the pitch black feeling around until he located the walkie. Without opening his eyes or sitting up, he pressed the button and grumbled out a, "Yeah?"

"Hey Daryl," Marge had known him since he was born and didn't hold it against him.

Daryl mumbled, "Hey Marge, what's up?"

He waited for her to cough and clear the phlegm from her throat before she spoke again. "We got a call about a girl found up on Ely Ridge."

Daryl waited and when Marge didn't offer up more information, he said, "She probably belongs to one of the families up there. Most of them got a gaggle of kids."

"Tammy Rose is the one that called."

"Sutton?"

"Uh-hmm," the dispatcher confirmed.

It surprised him that she would call at all. Earl, her husband, wasn't the type to invite a cop up their way. The girl probably didn't belong to them. They had sons as far as Daryl remembered.

"Tammy Rose said the girl wouldn't let anyone near her. She'd been there for hours so she finally just let her be hoping she'd go back to where ever she came from by the time it got dark."

Daryl sat up and ran a hand through his hair. "Christ almighty, she ain't a stray dog."

"Uh-hmm," Marge agreed. "But dark came and she's still out there."

Alarm rising, he asked, "She's outside? It's got to be close to freezing." Things got cold up in the mountains of northern Georgia in December.

"Tammy said she threw a blanket in her direction and last she checked on her, the girl had wrapped it around herself."

He could call in Michonne. After all, he'd been on shift all day and part of the night before thanks to a domestic problem the consisted of a whole family, but he didn't like sending her up there on her own. She could handle herself, no doubt. Fact was, the men up that way didn't take kindly to anyone in uniform, especially a woman. So why would he want to start unneeded trouble by sending her there?

"Damn. Do me a favor 'n call Tammy back, tell 'em I'll head up there." The last thing he wanted to do was surprise them by just showing up.

. . .

He made the half hour trip in fifteen minutes, pushing the Bronco as much as he dared. He made his way up the only road that led to Ely Ridge until the potholed pavement gave way to potholed dirt, forcing him to slow a bit. He bounced down the Sutton's road, headlights cutting through the misty darkness until he came to their cabin. One would easily miss the driveway if they didn't know it was there. They were secluded back in a clearing behind a thick line of trees.

Living up there wasn't for everyone. The Sutton's, along with a few other families that stuck it out, his brother included, have lived up here for generations.

Their place wasn't a cabin so much as a shack that they had added onto over the years. He parked and blew his horn once giving them fair warning.

An older woman about sixty poked her head out the side door. The wind tried to take it from her hand but she held tight and slammed it shut behind her. He jumped out of the Branco, grabbing his Carhartt as he went, shrugging it over his shoulders as he met her halfway between the shack and his truck. There was no sign of Earl or their sons. Daryl didn't know if the boys still lived there with their parents. Ken was a bit younger than himself, Henry was even younger.

He nodded to the woman wearing grubby jeans and a men's flannel jacket. A bandana tamed the wild grey hair off her face. Tammy probably had been beautiful at one time, but this life is not for the faint of heart and age showed on her sun thickened skin.

"Tammy, how you been?"

"Good, thank ya'." She had always been kind to him. He wasn't sure if Earl and Tammy had been a friend of his father or even his mother. He just knew that he knew them like everyone knew everyone in this town.

"What's goin' on? Marge says you found a girl?"

She nodded vigorously. "She's scared. Looks like a rabbit caught in the crosshairs. Know what I mean?"

Daryl nodded. He hunted, he knew the look she was referring to. Sometimes that scared rabbit look people took on came with meth usage. Could this be a case of a kid on a bad trip?

"Won't let me near her. Poor thing. I sat with her for a bit off and on throughout the day. Well, as close as she'd let me get to her. A few feet away, any closer and she'd start acting like she was gonna' run off again. I talked to her but she wouldn't say a word back. She wouldn't come into the house. Looks like she's been through it, ya know?" She smiled apologetically, showing a missing K-9 tooth.

"Finally I says to Earl, 'let me call Daryl Dixon. He'll know what to do.' I was just afraid she'd freeze to death up here and then we'd have a whole mess a trouble that we don't need."

"You did the right thing. Jus' point me in the general direction. I'll find her if she's still around," he told Tammy, pulling a flashlight from the inside pocket of his coat.

"She is. Still there I mean. I can see her from my kitchen window."

Daryl left Tammy to go back inside and walked toward the direction she had indicated. Bacon wafted through the air making his stomach rumble. When was the last time he'd eaten? He didn't rightly remember. Looking over his shoulder at the house, he saw Tammy standing at the kitchen window, nothing more than a hole cut into the metal siding and a piece of glass caulked into the frame. She sent him a quick wave before busying herself with what he guessed to be the stove.

Swinging the flashlight back and forth in front of him, he inspected the small clearing surrounding the shack. Car's and other equipment in different states of disrepair were parked where Earl and his boys left them. A barrel smoldered with the day's trash, glowing orange against the darkness. A few Hounds bayed in the distance.

Most people would turn their noses up at his current surroundings. Not Daryl, though. To him it was peaceful. The scent of sage mixed with woodsmoke, the dirt his boots kicked shack. It reminded him of his childhood.

He and Merle lived in the mountains with their parents until his mother couldn't handle it any longer. She'd grown up the same way and wanted more for her sons. She left their dad and took ten year old Daryl and fifteen year old Merle with her.

She got a job at the local factory and they lived in her beat up Chevy Impala until she was able to afford an apartment in the not so great side of town. She enrolled her sons in school. Daryl adapted by tying his best to blend into the background. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. He was the outsider from the mountains with a shy disposition that lived a shity apartment with clothes that were too small. If someone picked a fight with him, they regretted it. He'd whoop anyone's ass that gave him the opportunity.

Merle rebelled the second they hit the town. Was kicked out if his high school within the first month of attending for smoking weed in the bathroom. He stole a car and went back to the mountain shortly thereafter. Their mother knew it was a long shot, but she'd hoped to save Merle from a life of drugs and drinking.

For the most part, Daryl was too young to remember the bad when they lived up on the mountain. He remembered his parents fighting and his dad was rarely sober, he also remembered running wild in the forests all day. Hunting and fishing and growing a garden with his mother. It wasn't all bad.

By the time he was a senior in high school, a miracle in and of itself that he'd made it that far, he was itching to get out and away from the hick town he grew up in. He enlisted in the Army as soon as he graduated shortly after turning eighteen. His mother died soon after that, her body exhausted from a lifetime of abuse. First from her own parents and then from her husband. Then from the unforgiving manual labor of her job.

He didn't even come home for her funeral. When he left town, he thought he'd never come back. Fate had other plans apparently.

. . .

He almost missed her. He stopped, swung his flashlight at what he thought was a shadow and suddenly she was there where the clearing stopped and the treeline began. Now that he saw her, it was clear she'd been there the whole time. Close enough to hear his truck pull up, probably overheard the conversation between him and Tammy if the wind hadn't taken the words in the opposite direction. She hovered next to a large tree like an apparition caught in limbo, practically floating where she stood.

He angled the flashlight at her middle so as not to blind her with the light, the white of her dress reflected the beam. She was bone thin, dirt smudged over her torn and ragged dress that hung loosely from her body. Some sort of dried substance, rust in color, was smeared across her right cheek. Sure it could be mud, but something told him otherwise. She was shaking like a branch in the wind.

What was most striking about her were her eyes. The blue irises were as bright as the noonday sky against skin as pale as the mid-winter snow. Fear penetrated deeply, telling him this wasn't just another kid on a bad trip.

"Hey," he said as gently as possible, the wind muffling the words to her. "I'm Daryl. You got a name?"

Not surprising, she said nothing. Maybe he should have sent Michonne instead. The girl would probably be more receptive to a woman.

She seemed ready for flight at any second, ready to turn and run. He stopped a few feet from her, holding out a hand palm up as if to say she was safe. Hoping to indicate, here in his presence, she was safe.

"Hey, ah Miss?" He wasn't sure what to call her. She couldn't have been more than seventeen. 'Ma'am' seemed wrong and he'd been informed more than once that calling a woman 'lady' was rude. Thanks, Michonne. She was always the voice in his ear, forever correcting his behemoth ways.

Audibly he cleared his throat before speaking again. Stating the facts. "Miss, you're on Ely Ridge. Do you know that?" She didn't respond. "I'm the county Sheriff. I'm here to help you. Are you hurt? Do you need medical attention?"

The girl was obviously dead on her feet. Her unfocused eyes closing and opening so slowly, he wondered if at one point they'd stay closed. At closer inspection, he saw there was a pretty good sized cut on her cheek where the rust color was coming from and one hidden away where her hairline met her forehead.

"Can you tell me your name, darlin'?" Inwardly he cringed. According to Michonne, calling a woman 'darlin'' was also wrong. Thankfully she wasn't there to hear it. How he was wishing she was there. His tall stature and broad shoulders worked in his favor when he was up against a tweaker thinking he was ten feet tall and bulletproof. Daryl gladly proved him wrong. This wasn't one of those times.

Michonne wasn't there and Earl probably wouldn't let her help any more than she already had. That left him to deal with the girl on his own. Hecould deal with this on his own, he reassured himself. Even if she was just a kid, he knew better than to underestimate anyone.

At first, he thought she slipped back into herself, her eyes glazing over once again. She squeezed them shut, placed a skeletal hand on the bark of the tree, swaying slightly. When she peered at him again, he took a step back. He didn't want to frighten her more than she already was.

"Ya' got to be freezing." The blanket Tammy had given her was pooled at her bare feet.

Before he moved, he warned her, "I'm just gonna take off my coat and toss it to ya'. Okay?"

She didn't say anything. He took it as a good sign that she didn't cower any further. He slid one arm out of the coat, switched hands with the flashlight and slid out the other arm. The bitter wind bit through his hooded sweatshirt as he tossed the coat a few inches from her.

After a moment, she knelt and reached for the jacket. Dragging it back by its sleeve she slipped it on, swallowing up her small frame. Her hands shook as they fumbled with the zipper before finally getting it zipped.

He nodded, "Good. That'll help. You'll catch your death out here tonight."

His first step was to put her at ease. Let her know she's safe. Because she was safe with him. Though he'd laid eyes on her only moments ago, for some reason he felt a vital need to keep her safe. A silly notion since it's his job to do so. To protect and serve.

Merle had said many times Daryl had this befuddling need to help anyone that needed it. It was true. This need was deep within him. That's why he took the position as Sheriff. He had his doubts whether he'd be any good at it. Turns out he wasn't so bad at the job.

He helped Jesus over and over again. Helped a homeless mom and her kid find a place to stay. Bought her groceries occasionally, extras he knew she couldn't afford. Made sure his closest neighbor, an elderly guy's car was in working order. To look at him, you'd never guess he had a soft spot for those at a disadvantage. Looks can be deceiving as anyone knew.

Now he had to convey he was here to help this half frozen, scared girl. Why did it feel so imperative? So much more than anything else he had to do on a daily basis.

Clearing his mind, he took a reluctant step. "What's your name?" He asked.

Silence, only giving him that deer in the headlights look.

Trying another tactic, he said, "Looks like you got an injury there on your head." Along with dirt, twigs and dead leaves were stuck to her matted blonde hair. Hair that glowed in the illumination of the flashlight.

"We need to get that looked at."

A Whip-poor-will sounded in the distance. Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will it repeated a handful of times.

She lifted ghostly fingers to her forehead, dabbing lightly she brought it back to her face. Blood smeared her fingers. Her eyes came to life then, going large and full of fear. Her breath hitched and a sob escaped her mute lips.

Daryl took a step, put forward a hand, palm out. "It's okay. It doesn't look too bad," he lied, he was too far away to tell. "The thing about head wounds is they bleed like a sona' bitch. Don't mean anything, it's probably just a tiny cut. Do you remember how you got it?" He asked just trying to get her to speak. To say anything.

Her breath came out quicker, chest heaving with the exertion. If she didn't get her breathing under control, she'd likely hyperventilate. He couldn't have her passing out up on this mountain.

"Hey," he said calmly, gaining what little attention she had to give. "It's gonna' be fine. Where ever you came from, whatever your story is. We gonna' work it out."

He took a step closer, she didn't react. He took that as a good sign, though she was still breathing as fast as a jackrabbit jumps.

"Look at me," he said just above a whisper, voice gravelly, barely heard above the wind. Her eyes focused on him then.

The wind creaked in the trees and she flinched, looked upward as though something might swoop out of the sky and snatch her up.

Before her attention faltered completely he said, "I am going to help you. I promise." Chancing it, he took another step. "I will not hurt you."

Attention back on him, her breathing slowed slightly, she wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. Doe-eyed and alarmed.

"Can I come closer?" He asked. "I just want to help you. Ya' cain't stay out here all night. I can't either. We'll both catch pneumonia. " He tried to joke. He chanced a step. Then another.

She didn't respond, but she didn't pull away as he was now standing a foot in front of her.

Seeing her up close, his eyes on her, her eyes on him, he realized she wasn't a kid after all. She was a grown woman. Her eyes telling a lifetime's worth of living.

His assumption that she was dead on her feet was correct. Dark circles marred the skin under her eyes. She was bruised and dirty. Skin and bones. The dress she wore, more suited for summer, or even a nightgown, hung on her body in a way that it reminded him of a little girl playing dress up in her mother's clothes.

"Jesus, how long you been out here?" He hadn't meant to ask the question aloud, it just came out.

Again she didn't respond but gave him a shake of the head as if to say she didn't know. Or didn't want to say.

"Well, it's time to get ya' outta' here."

Not surprisingly, she hesitated.

Gently, again he spoke, "When I said I won't hurt you, I wasn't lying. One thing you should know about me is I don't lie." It was true. His brother had considered his inclination for honesty a downfall. To Daryl it just made sense. If you didn't lie, you didn't have to question what the truth actually was.

Her eyes bore into his, searching for something he wasn't sure of. She was probably trying to decide if the man that stood in front of her was less dangerous than what had chased her up into the mountains.

"I know you don't know me, but you can't stay here, right? It's too cold and you're not dressed properly for December in the mountains. Even with my coat and Tammy's blanket you'd freeze," he said trying to appeal to her practical side.

"We'll make our way back to town and then figure this out. First step is getting you warm. Maybe something to eat? Something hot. Not to brag, but I'm an expert at warming up a can of chicken noodle."

Her teeth were literally chattering. He could practically see the wheels spinning in her mind. Should she stay? Or should she go? Trust a stranger, or freeze to death.

Finally, her head nodded once. Nothing more than the slightest movement, a hiccup of emotion. A sound in her throat. He took it and didn't give her a chance to second guess her decision.

"Good. Now if you need to you can take my arm, but I won't touch you. Okay? That sound like a deal?" He didn't have much formal training on trauma. He didn't need formal training to know the last thing this girl, this woman, needed was someone, some strange man, touching her.

It was slow going and she didn't take his arm. Every bone in his body was attuned to her. Any second she might break away and run off. Then he'd have to chase her and he really didn't want it to come to that. There was no way he was leaving here without her.

They finally made it to his truck. When he opened the passenger door for her, slowly, like her bones were stiff and painful, she climbed up into the cab of the Bronco on her own.

When he opened his door and the overhead light shone, she flinched. Quickly he cranked the engine to life and shut off the light. Kicking the heat up to high.

"Should be warm in no time. We got a bumpy ride ahead, so if you can, I'd suggest you put on your seatbelt." Girl was so thin, she might bounce right out of the seat. "I can help ya'," again he offered her his assistance.

No surprise when she ignored his offer for help and pulled the belt over her shoulder in the same stiff sore-bodied way.

She braced against the bumpy road, razor-backed and stiff all the way back to town. Even when they made it to the pavement she didn't relax in the least. If anything she became stiffer, more aware of herself and surroundings, watching intently out the front and passenger windows. Hands clenched in her lap.

He didn't try to fill the void. It was one thing getting her to come with him, it was another to make her talk. He didn't understand what was happening with her, but he accepted her silence. Just as Michonne had done for him.

* * *

**I know, 3 chapters in and Beth hasn't even spoken yet. Hang in there. Thanks for reading! **


	4. Girl, Found

Once back to town, at the one red light blinking at the corner where the two main roads met, Daryl began to steer towards the hospital that was yet another thirty minutes away.

"I'm just taking you to the nearest hospital. It's a ways away yet, but all's we got."

Her breathing sped up again, he didn't hear it so much as felt her distressed body became tenser. Taking his eyes off the road he glanced at her. She was clawing blindly at the door in search of the handle, a slight whimper escaping her lips.

"Hey, hey," he said, slowing the truck to a stop on the deserted street that ran through town. He didn't want to physically have to stop her. She was half his size and the top of her head only came to his shoulders, still, he'd seen people much smaller than her take down men bigger than himself when they felt cornered. He had to keep her calm. He couldn't let her run off either. He'd locked the doors as soon as they got on the truck, luckily she hadn't noticed.

"Easy now," he spoke calmly. "What's got you so upset? We have to get those cuts looked at. They may need stitches. They definitely need cleaning and disinfecting. The hospital is the best place to be."

She didn't hear him or didn't want to hear him. Or, in her current state of panic, she couldn't hear him. The whimper escalated into a high pitch whine. A whine of a feral animal captured in a live trap. She began pawing at her seatbelt.

"Girl, you're gonna hurt yourself." To hell with what was the proper or right thing to say. He put the Bronco into park and faced her. "Is it the hospital that's got you upset? We don't have to go there right now." He reached over, grasping her flailing hands and placed his over hers, held firmly. They were freezing. He could feel every bone protruding in her hands against the warn calloused skin of his palm.

Instantly she stilled and her attention focused on his hands holding hers.

"We can go back to my office," he left out that his office was in fact in the sheriff's department. If the mention of hospitals sent her into a panic then what would a police station do?

"I can look at your head there. I know probably as much as those doctors do anyway," he smiled, the right corner of his mouth lifting.

She didn't say yes or no, just clenched her hands together under his and again stared straight ahead. Just like that, she was sedate. The only sign of any distress being her shallow breathing.

He took the back way to the station and parked in the back lot. He rounded the hood and opened the door for her but again didn't touch her, letting her climb down herself. She followed him, waiting with her head down as he unlocked the back entrance. Followed him inside and through the hallway to his office, flipping on lights as he went.

He was surprised when she actually followed him in the large room the housed his and Michonne's desks as well as the jail cell. He gestured to the chair that sat next to his desk. He didn't leave her side until she was completely seated. Her legs still shook and he was afraid she might crumble to the ground.

He retrieved the first aid kit from a cabinet. So as not to appear to tower over her, or seem too much like an authority figure, he wheeled his chair from behind his desk and sat in front of her, keeping a comfortable distance between them.

"Let's have a look at that cut," he quietly mumbled.

He took an antiseptic wipe from the kit and opened the package. "I'm just gonna' touch this to your face. It'll probably sting a bit," he warned before he dabbed it to the cut, wiping away both dirt and blood. She didn't even flinch.

While he was busy cleaning the wound, she stared at him. Didn't take her eyes from him until he caught her eye, then she immediately looked away. The way she watched him when she thought he wasn't paying attention made him uncomfortable, as though she was reading his thoughts.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, "Doesn't look like a deep cut. It probably could use a few stitches otherwise it might scar."

She said nothing. Daryl thought he didn't talk a lot. He didn't have anything on this girl. Keep talking. Keep her calm, he told himself. The fact that she was allowing him into her space and letting him tend to the cut was a feat in and of itself.

After cleaning the wound on her head, he put a large bandage over it. He tended to a few of the other superficial cuts on her hands and arms. He was sure she had skinned knees as well but he didn't want to alarm her by lifting her dress.

His initial assimilation of her being skin and bones had been spot on. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, her hair was bright blonde, giving her skin an unhealthy paleness. Her lips were cracked and dry.

"Thirsty?" He asked. He didn't expect an answer and she didn't give him one. Her eyes did brighten ever so slightly, so he stood and retrieved a bottle of water from the mini fridge next to the cabinet he'd gotten the first aid kit.

He unscrewed the top and placed it in front of her acting as though he didn't care if she drank it or not. He was relieved when after a moment she grasped the water bottle and took long gulps draining half of its contents.

"So." He began, sitting again. Leaning back he wanted to appear calm, not too curious. "Maybe we can start off with something easy. Like your name."

Grasping the water bottle so tightly it caved in on one side, she squinted her eyes up and to the left as though in deep thought. The fear was still there. So palatable he felt it deep in his chest.

She wouldn't look him in the eye, looked everywhere else instead. His chin which needed a shave, his roughly worn boots, the floor, the corner of his desk. The clock ticking above his head on the wall behind him. Mostly she kept her attention focused on her hands gripping the water bottle.

Bending forward in his chair, he rested his elbows onto his knees, leaned his chin in his palm. He leaned in, still keeping a healthy distance, taking a closer look. Under the grime, she definitely did look worse for wear, like she hadn't slept in days. Been out on her own on that mountain even longer.

A quick glance of her arms, so quick she probably didn't even notice, told him there were no visible track marks on her inner elbows. That didn't mean they weren't somewhere else. Lots of closet junkies injected anywhere they could find a decent vein. Dirt still smeared her face but the skin under the dirt was smooth, none of the nitpicking of a meth addict. Her pupils were even and responded to the light of the room.

She obviously wasn't going to answer his last question. "How'd you get that gash on your head?" He tried.

That was apparently not a good idea. She wrapped her thin arms around her middle and began slightly rocking back and forth in her chair. And was she humming? No louder than the flutter of a hummingbirds fluttering wing. Not wanting things to escalate, he touched her knee. She froze and he took his hand back.

He was getting nowhere.

"Listen, you can stay here tonight. We got some spare clothes. Something a little warmer you can wear." That was Michonne's idea. When she first brought it up, he thought it was a silly idea. Turns out the spare clothing had come in handy more than once.

Her eyes widened and her head whipped to the cell they used for a drunk tank and other offenders that never stayed long.

Reading her, seeing her panic starting to rise yet again, he quickly amended, "Not in the cell. There's a cot in the back room. You can crash there, then we'll figure things out in the morning. I'll get those clothes for you then we'll find something for ya' to eat."

He wasn't afraid to admit he was in over his head. When he rose to find those clothes, he sent Michonne a text.

I got a situation. Could really use your help.

After a moment she replied, Is there a mouse in the trap again?

He rolled his eyes, smiling slightly. I'm laughing on the inside. Can you give me a hand or not?

A few more seconds. Just take your time Michonne, he said. Never mind it was now close to midnight as she was probably curled up in bed with that loser boyfriend of hers.

Be there in five, she finally replied.

He returned to the room, feeling a tiny bit better knowing Michonne was on the way. He placed the folded grey sweatshirt and sweatpants on the desk next to her.

"Found some warm socks for ya' too. My partner will be here soon. She's a woman, so…" he faltered awkwardly. He had no idea if that would help calm her nerves or not. She seemed scared of everything.

He sat back down in his desk chair and looked at the girl before him who was currently holding the almost empty water bottle in her hands in her lap, staring at it as though it was her safety net. Rocking slightly back and forth.

She had been through something, just what that was he wasn't sure. They had runaways occasionally, that was usually settled quickly enough. It was a small town, everyone knew everyone. If someone's loved one had run away, word got around fast.

Trying again, he said, "My names Dixon. But you can call me Daryl."

No response, just rocking back and forth. He leaned in again, placing his elbows on his knees. He caught her eye briefly. To his surprise, she focused on him, he had the distinct feeling she was seeing deep into him. It made him uncomfortable. Before he could look away, she did so first.

"I can help you," he told her again.

She looked back to him, held his gaze for a second, then two, then three. Her lips parted, the muscles in her throat moved. No words came. She looked back to her hands holding the bottle of water. Long, lank hair parted down the middle fell in front of her face.

"You're safe here," Daryl reassured. He didn't want to cross any lines or make her feel uncomfortable. He went with his gut, his gut had yet to fail him, and something told him she needed contact. The kind of human contact that was harmless and didn't expect anything in return. He reached out and placed a hand lightly on her knee. "You're safe," he repeated.

To his surprise, she didn't recoil from his touch, didn't scream or yell or lash out at him. All things considered, he wouldn't blame her if she did. She did, however, stop rocking back and forth, her eyes made contact with his. Deep blue, uncertain curiosity. The intimacy he felt made his chest tighten. He shifted, releasing her hands and uncomfortable, looked down at his boots. Noticing her feet, he remembered she'd been barefoot out there.

Relieved to have a distraction from her eyes he said, "We really should clean those wounds on your feet."

She stared at him confused.

From the bathroom, he fetched a shallow plastic basin, filled it with warm water and body soap from his bag he carried back and forth from home to work. He never knew how long he'd be at work and he carried soap, deodorant, a t-shirt. Toothbrush.

On his way back to the main room, he grabbed a washcloth and towel from the cabinet.

Sitting back in front of her, he placed the basin on the floor. She only looked at him, eyebrows rose high on her forehead. Fear and a tiny bit of curiosity showed on her face. When she made no move, he leaned down, lightly grasped her small foot and slid it into the water.

"Not too hot?" He asked.

No response.

He took no answer as a good thing and gripped her other foot and place it into the water. He dipped the washcloth in the water and began to gently wipe away the dirt.

Some might say it's odd, his washing a stranger's feet. He didn't see it that way. He didn't even think twice. He'd done stranger things. Once Jesus was buck naked, drunk and walking down Main Street singing at the top of his lungs in the middle of the night. Daryl had to tackle him to get his naked ass under control and back to the station where he still refused to put on clothes. So, no, this wasn't strange in his mind.

He only reacted to a need. He had to access the cuts on her feet, they had to be washed to do so and she wasn't capable of doing it herself at the moment, he did it for her. Simple as that.

She had numerous cuts and blisters on the bottoms of her feet. Underneath the cuts and dirt were thick calluses. If he had to take a guess, he'd think she hadn't worn shoes in a long while.

The Amish didn't wear shoes until the first frost, the first frost was about a couple weeks ago. Could she be a part of the very small Amish community that lived throughout the county?

"I'm sorry. I know this has gotta' hurt," he said as he came to a particularly deep cut on her big toe. Just like with the cut on her forehead, she didn't say a word or so much as flinch when he dabbed the washcloth against it.

When he was finished washing, he placed a towel on the floor and she moved her feet to the towel on her own and he began to dab at them with the loose ends of the towel. Once dry he carefully applied Neosporin cream and bandaged her cuts.

"There ya' go," he said for lack of anything better to say. Bent at the waist he looked up at her. Her eyes were filled with tears. One tear silently slid down her cheek, leaving a clear trace on her skin.

Shit. He knew her tears had nothing to do with physical pain.

"Hey now," he said gently as he leaned back up. "Everything's going to be okay." Empty words because he had no way of knowing this. Still, it felt wrong not to comfort the girl.

"I don't know what happened to you, but I can help you. I want to help you."

Any other person he would have taken to the hospital as he had intended in the first place. He wasn't exactly sure why he didn't. Her panic was only part of the reason. There was more to it than that. This girl... she needed his help, not just his service as a sheriff.

Before he had a chance to say more, Michonne sauntered into the station wearing her sheriff's Deputy winter coat. He stood, stepped away from her. She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, reigning in the emotions and continued her inspection of the water bottle.

"Well," Michonne said, standing with Daryl by their desks. "Who do we have here?" She seemed a little shocked. It wasn't every day they had a ghost-like girl in their station.

"She wandered onto the Sutton's property. Tammy Rose found her, called the emergency line. Marge called me." He summed up what had happened easily enough. "She's not wanting to say much yet, ain't that right?" He asked her kindly. He didn't expect her to answer, but he didn't want her to think they were talking about her like she wasn't even there. She looked up at them. From Daryl to Michonne then back to Michonne.

"I was just tellin' her I think she'll probably feel more like talkin' once she gets some food in her system. Maybe a few hours sleep?" He told Michonne but was looking at the girl as he spoke. She only stared at them. Deer in the headlights again.

She sat in the chair Daryl had just vacated. Eye level with her. "It's nice to meet you," Michonne said warmly. Not speaking down to her, just trying to make her feel at ease. "I'm Michonne. I work with Daryl here." Then she whispered conspiratorially, loud enough for Daryl to hear. "He's big and awkward but he a good guy. Don't tell him I said that though. Don't want him getting a big head. He's already cocky as a rooster in the morning." Michonne gave her a warm smile and a wink.

She only gazed at Michonne, no smile. No laugh. No smirk. Michonne didn't take offense.

"I'm just gonna' take a look at the cut here. Is that okay?" Michonne asked. When she held Michonne's gaze she lightly pushed her hair from the bandage on her forehead. Inspecting to make sure it was cleaned up properly.

"Hey now," Daryl rebutted weakly, lightly giving her shoulder a push. "I bandaged it just fine."

"Hey now nothing," she teased. "You ain't no doctor."

. . .

Having no more luck than Daryl did at getting her to talk, Michonne showed her to the bathroom. She left her with the clean clothes and a washcloth in case she wanted to wash up better, telling her to take her time and she'd be back out in the office when she was finished.

Michonne found Daryl at his desk, sitting with his chin in his palm, deep in thought. She was glad he called her in. It didn't happen very much, It wasn't that she wasn't capable and it wasn't that Daryl didn't think she was capable. Too often he felt he needed to handle it all. She didn't take it personally. It's just how he operated.

"Should get her to the doctor," Michonne said quietly bringing Daryl back from his reprieve. "Make sure she doesn't have a concussion."

"She doesn't," Daryl answered confidently. "I tried to take her to the hospital," he said, standing from his chair he went to the coffee pot, began the ritual of making a pot strong enough it could skin a cat. With his back to Michonne, he continued, "She freaked. And I mean freaked . Woulda' jumped out the truck if she wasn't so beat down 'n weak."

"Still, she needs to get checked out. See what the doctor says. She may have been assaulted. I'll take her to the clinic tomorrow," Michonne decided.

"Hey, do you think maybe she's deaf. Like Connie. Maybe she can read lips but isn't comfortable talking out loud."

Michonne slid into her desk chair. "I can't say for sure, but I think she hears just fine."

Daryl nodded, turning back to Michonne, leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest.

"What? What is it?" She asked.

"I just don't know what happened to her. A lot of times I can get a reading on a person, with her though, I feel her fear. It's palpable."

. . .

Now alone in the bathroom, she balanced her swaying body by grasping the edges of the pedestal sink. The cold porcelain of the sink pressing back at her hot hands. They had been so cold when she was out on the mountain and now they burned like fire as the blood circulated through her veins once again. Bright red in color, they felt large and swollen.

Slowly she lifted her face to the reflection in the mirror. She hadn't seen herself in a long time. Since that fuzzy time period in her mind she could no longer fully recollect. She still looked much like a child. A grown child that was very, very tired. She felt the exhaustion burrow deep in her bones.

The center of the bandage on her head was pink. Underneath, it pulsed with her accelerated heartbeat. Pain starting at the cut, radiated downward. Shoulders, hands, lower back, knees. Her feet tingled back to life as though she'd been sitting on them for an extended amount of time and they had fallen asleep. Tiny needles stabbing through the skin.

She'd been shaking from the cold, now that she was safe, a full body tremor shook her almost violently.

But was she safe?

She eyed the small bathroom that had seen better days and noticed the tiny window above the toilet. Just small enough for someone her size to fit through.

She didn't know that man or the woman. She could overhear them talking about her. Not what they were exactly saying, but the mumble of their voices carried through the thin walls. No doubt they were trying to decide what should be done with the strange girl that won't talk. Though the man had been unexpectedly caring and the woman was funny and warm, they'd probably be like everyone else she was taught to avoid. Untrusting and conniving, always wanting or needing something.

Staring at her own reflection, wondering if she should stay and face whatever repercussions that lay ahead, or run. Her legs itched with anticipation, her feet pulsed. Her heartbeat reached an all new high, the cut, her feet, her hands all beat in time with the bang, bang, bang in her chest.

* * *

**I have no idea what protocol is for something like this is. I can either do research or write in my spare time. LOL Thanks for reading!**


	5. Angel

"It's protocol, Daryl," Michonne said as they sat outside the department. "She needs to be checked out by a physician. I know you're trying to protect her from further distress…"

Actually, Michonne stood in front of Daryl, hand on a cocked out hip, as he sat on the steps. A cigarette smoldered between his lips. He frowned up at her as the wind carried the smoke back at him, burning his eyes.

"Screw protocol."

"Yeah, and what if she's been assaulted? What if she's been raped?"

The idea made Daryl's stomach quiver. How someone could put their hands forcefully on a woman is beyond him. He vaguely remembered his father knocking around his mother. Even as a young boy he knew it was wrong.

"She's definitely been through something," he agreed. "All right, I'll talk to her, see if she's willing."

He felt he established a little trust the night before. He could be totally off the mark, but the fact that she stayed there all night said a lot. Or it just said she didn't have any place else to go.

She slept fitfully, though, on the cot in the backroom. He knew this because he didn't sleep at all. Every time he checked on her, to make sure she was still there and hadn't slipped out the back during the night, she was in a different position. Facing the wall, facing the room, always curled up in a tight little ball under the heavy wool blanket they kept on hand, face scrunched up into a frown.

She ate about a half a cup of the chicken noodle soup he warmed up for her in the ancient microwave the night before. Drank another half bottle of water and went to lay down soon after. All without saying a word. It didn't get past Daryl that she remained steadfastly aware. Always watching, almost waiting for something. Or someone.

When he went back inside after the conversation with Michonne, she was sitting on the cot, legs pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs, staring out the tiny window that was aimed toward the back alley.

"Hey, there," he said quietly, not wanting to startle her.

Slowly her eyes went from the window to him standing in the doorway. In the light of day, her beauty showed through the dark circles and matted hair. She was still untrusting of him, only slightly less so. She eyed him with more curiosity than fear. The fear was still there, to be sure, just less so. Fear along with uncertainty. And maybe a hint of running off at any second still remained.

"How ya' feeling today?" He asked. Gradually making his way into the room and sat in a fold-out chair in the corner.

Watching his every move, she didn't answer and he didn't expect that she would. Still, he talked to her as though she would answer.

"So, there are certain things, protocols we have to take when we come across…" he fumbled for the right words. "Situations such as yours."

In all honesty, he'd yet to come across a situation like hers. He waited to be sure she was following. Her eyes watched him intently. He continued.

"One of them would be putting your name in an FBI database for missing people. 'Course I don't know if you're missing, or your name for that matter." Waiting a second, thinking maybe she'd speak up and correct him. She didn't. "We can also enter your DNA into another database. It's just a swipe of the inside of the cheek with a cotton swab. If you are missing and your loved ones submitted their own sample into this database, we might be able to find a match."

No response again.

"Another protocol is taking you to a doctor. If you were assaulted, there might be evidence we can have collected to use against the perpetrator should he ever be found."

Instantly she tensed, pulling her arms around her legs against her chest even tighter.

"Not the hospital, just a doctor at a clinic. I know you're resistant to that idea. And I don't blame you. I hate doctors too," he tried to lighten his words with a chuckle. "Michonne will be there every step of the way."

She released her legs and scooted to the edge of the cot. Daryl braced himself in case she took off. Instead of running, she shook her head back and forth as if to say no.

"Ah, come on. Help me out a little. I don't know who you are. Or what happened to you. I might be able to bandage up some cuts, but the doctor can look at ya' a little more thoroughly than I can. I want to help you, but you gotta' help me too." He spoke calmly, empathetically.

She stopped shaking her head and looked out the window again. Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. She peered at him through the shroud of her long hair, lifting a pale boney finger and pointed it at him.

"Me? What about me? You want me to take you to the clinic?"

She nodded her head and let her hand fall, inspecting her hands that lay in her lap. She seemed resigned to going. He wanted her to be comfortable, on the other hand taking her to the doctor made him decidedly uncomfortable. If it meant she would go, then he'd take her.

"If I take ya', you'll go?" He questioned.

She nodded her head yes again and stood, looking down at him expectantly. When he stood and walked out of the backroom, she, to his surprise, followed.

After letting Michonne know the change of plans, to which she objected, the girl wordlessly conveyed she wanted Daryl to go, they were loaded up in his Bronco again and heading to the doctor.

. . .

"Damn it, if she's out there, we need to find her," the man growled into his clasped fists atop the steel desk.

The desk was situated a few feet from the back wall of the small cabin he used as his home and headquarters. He positioned it that way on purpose. That way he could see who came in, no one would be able to sneak up on him from behind. Only one entrance, only one window next to the entrance. No other doors, no other windows. A small room to the right held his bed, two comfortable chair's, a small closet. It was a small cabin, but still larger than anyone else's on The Sanctuary. The room glowed yellow with the lamp oil on his desk.

"We're looking, Negan." the man with scraggly blonde hair said.

"Well, Dwight, ya' ain't looking fuckin' hard enough, are you? There ain't many girls wandering around this mountain. How hard can it be to find her?" Negan's face was turning crimson, a bad sign. Dwight knew all too well how dangerous it was to be on the receiving end of his temper.

"We'll keep lookin'," Dwight reassured. A small twitch itched on the bumpy scared skin of his cheek. He didn't dare lift a hand to scratch it.

"You're damn right you are," Negan said, slowly rising, starring Dwight down.

He forbade his people against swearing. Said it tainted their purity. Yet, he swore every other word when got mad, which was often.

He rounded his desk and joined Dwight in the center of the dark cabin. Even with the lamp on his desk, the room was perpetually dark with little outside light shining in.

Just as Dwight was certain he'd harm him somehow, a switch was flipped and he smiled. Perfectly straight white teeth shone ominously.

He clasped a hand on Dwight's shoulder, almost painfully, and chuckled deep in his chest. "You know we can't just let it out that we are up here. People don't like what they don't understand. They definitely will not understand us. You're one of the Saviors. You get it," he gave Dwight an empty compliment by calling him the term he coined and called his people; 'the Saviors'.

"She," he paused for added effect, bent his head slightly to make eye contact, "She is one of the Saviors. We can't let her go. She needs to be caught and brought back here. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, I understand."

"Well good," he said. The sarcastic tone didn't escape Dwight. "What are you waiting for?" He asked when Dwight only stood there. You never could be sure when he was finished talking. He'd rattle on for an hour and you'd think he was through babbling and you'd go to leave and he'd get angry if he wasn't done talking to you yet. It was better to wait for your dismissal from him personally.

"Go on then, get!" He said as though Dwight was a mischievous three year old boy instead of a grown man. But then, he scooted out the door like he was a mischievous three year old boy.

. . .

Once again he was surprised when she followed him from the truck to the clinic. About halfway there he'd noticed she started shaking again, clasping her hands until her bones protruded sharply from the skin. Rocking back and forth seemed to soothe her. He tried to make small talk, but for someone who doesn't talk a whole lot to begin with, small talk was almost impossible with a person who doesn't talk at all. Soon enough he ran out of words and the only sounds in the cab of the Bronco were the radio on low and the wind whistling through a crack in the back window.

The clinic, unsurprisingly, had seen better days. The once white, now yellowed, linoleum floor stuck to his boots and the faded pink cushions of the plastic chairs were discolored with, thankfully, unidentified stains. The receptionist didn't even look up from her computer when he approached the counter where she sat on the other side. A plastic partition separated her area from the waiting room.

After a few awkward seconds, Daryl had to knock on the plastic partition to get her attention. When he had her attention, she looked annoyed. He told them his name and that the girl he was with had an appointment.

He'd hoped to speak with the receptionist, or the nurse, or even the doctor before they saw her. When Michonne had called to make the appointment, she told them what the situation was. Daryl wanted to be sure they knew she was in frail condition, both physically and mentally. That didn't look like it was going to happen as the receptionist had already closed the window and was again staring at the computer screen.

He knocked on the partition, making a dull thudding sound. The woman looked up with widespread eyes and sighed. When she was obviously not moving, he opened the partition himself. She stared him down, he didn't care.

"I just wanted to be sure your staff and doctor know what they're dealing with here." He jerked his head over his shoulder where she already sat in one of the chairs. "She's most likely a victim of assault and she should be treated accordingly."

When the woman only continued her dumbfounded stare, he leaned in over the counter through the partition. "If this girl is mistreated, I'm going to hold you personally accountable. So if you don't get your lazy ass up outta' that chair and double check that the Doc got the message from my partner, you're gonna' be sorry."

The woman's eyes grew large and she shuffled out of the chair and disappeared down the hall. When she returned a moment later, the woman sang a different tune.

"Yes, sir. The doctor is aware of the situation. Made sure myself. The nurse will be out shortly. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"See now, was that so hard?" He asked.

In the waiting area, he sat across from her. She started out the windows behind him. There was nothing to see there, only traffic and buildings. He doubted she was actually paying any attention to what was happening outside. She was aware of her surroundings but was lost in her mind. He'd give a small fortune just to know what she was thinking.

And why did he care? He'd come across plenty of people in his life that had a story to tell. Who didn't, really? He helped them and moved on. He couldn't do that with her. He was going to make sure she was okay. He just had no idea how he'd make that possible.

One step at a time, he supposed. Just like those damn AA meetings had preached.

Soon a nurse came out and didn't call her name, they didn't know her name. The nurse smiled politely enough and looked to the girl that sat across from him. She had that deer in the headlights look again. Eyes large and full of fear.

Leaning forward, he lightly touched her knee, telling her, "I'll be right here."

She met his eyes. His words seemed to assure her. She slowly stood and, with the nurse, disappeared down the hall as the door closed behind them.

Breathing deeply into his lungs, he was shocked she actually agreed to this. What had changed in a day that made her deathly afraid of the hospital but okay enough to go to the clinic? There wasn't very much of a difference between the two. Maybe she was doing it only because he asked her to. That didn't make sense either. She didn't know him today much better than she did yesterday.

Whatever the reason, they were there and he was more nervous than he cared to admit.

. . .

She had no idea what to do or where she was going to go. Eventually, this Sheriff would tire of her and her inability to function as a normal person. Then what would he do with her? Drop her off at a shelter? He seems kind and caring and she really wanted to trust him. It was so much easier said than done.

Maybe they were right at The Sanctuary - she was worthless. Or was it unworthy? It was all so jumbled in her mind, she didn't know which way was up. She hadn't expected to, but she missed the place she'd called home for the last five years. Maybe it was just the familiarity she missed? Because how could she actually miss that place?

She missed her sister, Sherry. Of course, she wasn't really her sister. She wondered how she was faring without her there. She missed the tiny hut she shared with Sherry and two other girls. She missed the cool mornings on the mountain when the air was still damp with dew. When The Sanctuary was still and quiet before everyone rose for the day. It was the only time she ever had any time to herself. She even missed the bland oatmeal they had every morning. To her, the fact that she actually missed The Sanctuary showed just how broken she really was.

And then they wanted her to go to a doctor. She fought the Sheriff off the night before, but here in the light of day, it seemed less likely she'd be able to get very far if she were able to escape him. So, what choice did she really have? She had nowhere to go, knew no one here in town, didn't even know for sure what town they were in. Her safest bet was to do as the Sheriff asks. That included going to the clinic.

The doctor wasn't as bad as she thought she'd be, contrary to what she'd been told about modern doctors. She was smart and compassionate toward her situation. She didn't press her to talk or speak of where she'd been.

During the exam, she dissociated herself, like she had so many times before. There was a single memory, not so much of a memory as a feeling, from when she was young that stuck with her and she had clung to it. A feeling of being warm and safe. The sun shining down from the sky, bright and steady. She remembered being happy. Carefree, running as fast as her little legs would carry her. Laughing so hard her belly hurt.

She'd retreat back to that moment time and time again. The doctors visit, the physical exam, was one of those times. She listened as the doctor talked her through what she was doing or what would happen next, but her mind was miles and years away.

. . .

After what felt like forever, she appeared through the door to the waiting room. Though Daryl hadn't realized it, he had tensed up while she was away until he saw her face again and the muscles in his broad shoulders untangled like twine. He stood, a little too fast, probably appearing a little too eager.

He didn't care how he appeared. He took his responsibility for her seriously. Looking at her, trying to read any discomfort that might be present. Her face remained placid and when she saw him standing, waiting for her, he was sure the tiniest of a smile playing on her lips was a figment of his imagination.

A young female followed her, dressed in a black turtleneck, black dress pants and a name tag that had her picture as well as her name and occupation. A stethoscope was casually placed around her neck.

"Sherriff?" The woman questioned. She looked way too young to be a doctor with her shoulder length dark hair, smooth olive skin, and bright, youthful brown eyes.

"Yeah. Daryl," he said and took her hand when she offered it.

"I'm Dr. Tara Chambler. Can we sit?" She asked motioning to the seats.

After they sat, she smiled warmly at the girl next to him. "Our girl here is very strong."

Instantly Daryl liked Dr. Chambler. He nodded in agreement.

Looking back to Daryl, the doctor began, "She's underweight. And those scrapes and bruises are just superficial. No signs of a concussion or broken bones. I think, with time, she'll heal just fine."

Daryl suspected as much, still, he was relieved to hear it from a doctor. "Well, that's good," he nodded, stole a look at her. She was back to staring out the windows again.

After only a short consultation with the doctor, she was soon saying, "It was really nice to meet you. If you have any trouble, any headaches or anything, you don't hesitate to contact me. Or have Sherriff contact me. Keep those bandages changed regularly and they should be cleared up in no time. Does that sound good?" She asked the girl.

Daryl waited, hoping for the millionth time that she would respond. Her attention shifted from the windows to Tara. Instead of looking away or closing off inside of herself, she now seemed engaged in their conversation. He'd take that as a good thing.

That must have been all the doctor had to say because she stood and Daryl stood along with her. She motioned slightly with her head. The girl made no move to stand, so Daryl followed Tara to where she stood, handing over a chat to the receptionist. Once the partition was closed and they moved further down the counter, Tara spoke quietly.

"I can't say what happened to her. She wouldn't talk to me either," she said before Daryl had a chance to ask.

"It's a wonder she went along with this at all."

"Well, I try my best to keep my patients comfortable. I can't tell you if she was sexually assaulted," the doctor went on to address the main question he, and Michonne, had in mind.

"You can't say? Or won't?" He questioned. He understood Doctor-Patient confidentiality. He'd be lying if he said it didn't bother him to not know. The poor girl seemed to have been through enough already without adding rape on top of it.

"I don't actually know. I can't force her to do a pelvic exam. And she's not talking, so…"

"You couldn't get consent. Yeah, I get it."

"She very well could have been raped or assaulted or abused in other ways. She's obviously been mistreated. She's quite malnourished."

"No argument there. Why do you think she won't talk? Can she?"

"As far as I could tell she should be able to talk. Whatever it is that's happened to her might have her so scared she's afraid to talk. Afraid she might say something she's not supposed to. 'Course that's just speculation. My advice would be not to push her too hard. Give it time, I have a feeling she'll come around eventually. Just continue what you're doing."

"I have no idea what I'm doing," he confided in Tara, a complete stranger up until a few moments ago. He leaned heavily on the lip of the counter, suddenly very tired.

"She trusts you."

"How do you know that?"

Tara looked thoughtfully to the girl and smiled warmly before looking back to Daryl. "Because she's here. If she didn't trust you, she'd be long gone."

Daryl put out his hand and she grasped it firmly. "Thank you, Doc."

"No problem. Here, take my card. It has my number," she said retrieving a business card from a stack on the counter and taking a pen from the plastic holder next to the cards, she scribbled down something on the back. "This is the name and number of a therapist, he might be able to give you a little more guidance on what to do for her. He specializes in trauma."

. . .

Daryl let the doctor's visit go untalked about. Just as Tara advised, he didn't want to push her too far so, he let it go.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm starvin'," Daryl said once they were back in the Bronco. "Do you like McDonald's? I know it's horrible for ya', it sure tastes good."

She didn't answer. She did look at him though. He took these little looks as progress. If she was looking at him, even in curiosity, then she wasn't backing away.

Daryl pulled into a McDonald's parking lot and to the drive-through. He ordered Egg McMuffins, Sausage McMuffins, Breakfast Burritos, McGriddles, and two orange juices. There was no way for him to know what she liked, so he ordered the most common items on the menu.

As they waited their turn in line, he casually spoke, "Ya' know, I can't keep callin' you nothing." Or girl. Which is what he had been calling her in his mind. "It'd make it a lot easier if you'd share that much with me."

Silence drifted through the truck along with the fried food scented breeze. Strangely, the silence didn't feel quite as heavy as it did earlier.

He paid at the first drive-through window, moved up in line waiting for their food next. He let the topic of her name drop momentarily. He had no doubt it had been a stressful morning for her, didn't want to overwhelm her.

Once back on the road, McDonald's bags on the floor in between their seats, he said, "Get what ya' want. Don't be shy now." He reached into a random bag, pulled out the first thing that his hand came into contact with. He liked everything equally. It all filled his belly just the same.

Driving one handed, he unwrapped a McMuffin, tossed the crumpled up wrapper onto the dash of the truck and took a big bite. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her quietly looking through the bags before deciding on a breakfast burrito. She unwrapped it, smoothing the wrapper out on her lap as she did. She then unrolled the burrito itself and began picking out the sausage, placing them on the wrapper. It hadn't even occurred to him she might not like sausage. Or maybe even be a vegetarian.

She rolled the burrito back up and took a small, tentative bite, then another. It was silly how much this appeased his worry that she might fade due to lack of food.

Her eyes closed as though she was truly enjoying the sausage-less breakfast burrito. Her eyes opened again quickly enough and she took another bite. Chewed thoroughly. Swallowed. They ate in silence as he drove a little while longer, then a whisper of a sound caught his ear.

"Angel."

What? Did she speak? Or was it the noisy old truck playing tricks on him. He looked back to her and she was looking at him expectantly.

"What was that?" he asked again, feigning nonchalance. He didn't want to put her off if she did actually speak.

Taking a straw out of the bag, he hit the end against his leg, ripping the straw through the paper warper on the other end. He placed the straw in her OJ, handing it to her. She took a sip, lips puckering slightly. He did the same for his own straw.

"Angel is my name." Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. Soft, melodic. Apprehensive.

Daryl took his eyes from the road and smiled, actually smiled fully at her. "Well Angel, it's nice to meet you."

* * *

**Thanks for reading. I think its only natural Negan is our bad guy. I don't really like Negan but no one else really fit the part. I won't be writing him exactly as he is on the show and the situation is obviously different.**  
**Thanks for reading, leave a comment!**


	6. Float

"What are we going to do with her long term?" Michonne voiced yet another question they were both wondering the answer to. "She can't keep sleeping in the backroom."

"Hell if I know," was Daryl's answer. He wouldn't just boot her out. It'd only been a few days but he would not abandon her.

He'd gotten used to her being there. She didn't talk. She slept a lot. She picked at the food he put in front of her. The receptionist kept a stack of paperbacks under the front counter and she had been reading them at a robust pace. If it meant he rarely spent any time at his own home, so be it. He didn't really mind.

"I'll take her over to my place. Let her use my tub at least." Michonne needed to help. Felt about as useless as Daryl did in this case.

He agreed a shower would probably make her feel better. Daryl watched as Michonne went into the backroom to wake the girl, Angel. She has a name. Course she always had a name, for whatever reason she chose to share it with him.

When she shuffled past him, hair a tangly mess, eyes heavy with sleep, he wanted to reach out. If for no other reason than to have a connection to her, for however brief of a second. When they walked toward the door, Angel looked back at him sitting at his desk, she lifted a small hand in a sort of half wave. Something similar to panic slithered through his chest. It was ridiculous. They'd be back soon. She was with Michonne, the second safest person in the county. Second only to himself.

To combat the empty feeling now that she was gone, he did what he always did, bury himself in work. He dove into research. Angel wasn't the most common name, it also wasn't in the most popular of names. When he entered it into the Georgia missing person's databank zero Angel's returned. He continued to search her age range, or what he thought her age might be, then searched her hair color, eye color, height. Nothing matched. Maybe she wasn't missing after all.

. . .

Angel didn't like leaving the sheriff's station. She didn't like leaving the Sheriff even more. She had begun to equate the station as well as Daryl with safety. She had to continually remind herself not to trust him. Even though he'd yet to be deceptive in any way that she knew of, she had to remain cautiously aware of him and Michonne and anyone else.

The lure of a bath won her over though and she agreed to go with Michonne to her home. She hadn't had a bath in a long time. She didn't even remember exactly when the last time was. At The Sanctuary, they took cold showers from rainwater collected in large barrels and then gravity fed with a hose hanging from a hook screwed into the wall outside one of the outhouses. At some point, someone built walls around it so they at least had a tiny bit of privacy. (Privacy was yet another thing they weren't allowed much of at The Sanctuary.)

During the colder months or for those that didn't like the cold water, they would forgo bathing as long as possible, washing with a rag and water that had been heated up on the cook stove. The girls had become quite proficient at washing their long hair in this way. Negan's girls, though, were able to use their own private bathroom, complete with a shower and warm water. She couldn't help but be a little envious of their clean skin and shiny hair.

Negan had spoken against vanity. Saying it didn't matter what you look like on the outside, that was how society perceives you and what society thinks of you didn't matter. Now looking back, she saw the girls he picked were the most beautiful of the group. They were clean and their clothes were always neat and tidy. Even ironed straight. Negan himself was always freshly bathed as well, his hair perfectly slicked back off his face. She was ashamed she'd fallen for his act. Why did she not notice this hypocrite for what he was sooner?

Officer Michonne's home was beautiful. And clean. No matter how hard they tried to keep their space, nothing more than a one-room shack, clean at The Sanctuary it was a losing battle with the constant damp weather and perpetual mud.

She stopped abruptly on the mat by the door, quickly kicking off the canvas shoes Michonne had given her to wear.

"Such manners," Michonne commented when she saw her lining her shoes up next to each other to the side of the mat. "This place is full of dust anyway, your shoes probably won't add to it."

Dust? Angel saw no dust. She was afraid she'd dirty something just by standing there. Suddenly aware of how she must look, how she must smell. Shame reddened her face and she looked down to her feet, at the too big socks Daryl had given her.

A sudden shrill screech sounded through the air making Angel jump and turn back toward the door, clawing at the smooth oak. Searching blindly for the doorknob. Just like that, like someone flipped a switch, she was back in the same state of panic she'd been in when she was running.

"Whoa, Whoa," Michonne said, placing a hand on her shoulder just as Angel got her hand around the doorknob. "Angel?" Michonne said softly.

The use of that name stilled her and she released the doorknob and turned back to Michonne, eyes wide, chest heaving. Frightened, her eyes darted from Michonne to the room searching for whatever caused that horrible noise.

"Don't be afraid. That's just a saw. I'm having some work done. Come on, I'll show you." Michonne wanted to show her she had nothing to be afraid of, show her that she was safe.

She followed Michonne through the living area and past the open kitchen, down the hall. A man stood at the end, a look of concentration on his face. He held a pencil in his mouth and a tape measure in his hand. A table saw was behind him.

"See, just a table saw," Michonne said brightly, lightly touching her elbow before gesturing to the man. "And Rick. He's building me a larger closet down here. He's the one making all the racket."

The man looked up and removed the earplugs from his ears and smiled at Michonne. "Hey now, construction ain't quiet work."

Michonne batted at the dust that floated in the air. "Or tidy work."

The man chuckled and released the tape measure, the tape retracting noisily into its case.

"Rick this is my friend Angel. She's going to use the shower. Why don't you take a break now so she can bathe in peace."

"Oh sure. No problem. I need a smoke anyway."

"Those things will kill you, ya' know."

"Eh, so you say."

Angel pressed herself as flat as she could against the wall as the man squeezed past them.

Michonne rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "Men, right? So," Michonne began as they rounded the construction mess and went up the stairs to a landing. A small hallway led to a big bedroom.

"One of the first things I had redone when I moved in was the bathroom. It's kickass if I do say so myself."

She followed Michonne through the bedroom, dark-colored carpet was soft under her feet. A huge comfortable looking bed was against the wall with a bedspread the color of a Cardinal's feathers. It held more pillows than she thought one would need to sleep with, but the look was appealing in a way she didn't understand. Large windows overlooked a ravine of trees that even in winter was breathtakingly beautiful.

Michonne opened the door to the bathroom and entered. Rummaging around as she talked. "There's some body soap here," she said pointing to the little caddy that lined the wall of the tub. The tub itself was the largest Angel ever recalled seeing, which wasn't saying much since she didn't remember a whole lot of anything.

"Here are some towels and shampoo," she said presenting her with two large fluffy black towels along with an equally fuzzy washcloth and small travel sized shampoo and conditioner bottles.

"Oh. I almost forgot," she said leaving the room briefly before returning with a plastic shopping bag. "I got you some clothes. Don't get too excited now. They're just from Walmart. I guessed on your size so I apologize if they don't fit right."

Angel opened her mouth to express her gratitude, the words refused to come out. They got all jumbled up in her mind and stalled in her throat. Blinking back tears of frustration as well as appreciation, all she could do was nod. This bizarre inability to speak was exhausting. She worried what Michonne must be thinking of her. She was probably thinking she was an ungrateful brat.

Michonne nodded in return, and quickly showed her how to use the tub and then went to the door. "Okay. I'll leave you to it then. Take your time. Also, there is a lock on the door if that'll make you feel a little more comfortable."

Once alone in the big beautiful bathroom, Angel hit the lock on the door, satisfied when it made a clicking sound. She managed to keep her tears at bay until the water was running, filling up the tub. She removed the bandage from her head, the cut almost healed. Shed her clothes, folding them, and placing them in an orderly pile on the seat of the toilet.

Ignoring the reflection of her naked body in the mirror above the sink, sure she wouldn't recognize it anyway, she slid down into the water. She sat cross-legged as the tub filled with hot water, surrounding her in incredible warmth. The sounds of her sobs were, thankfully, swallowed by the sound of the water rushing out of the faucet.

She wished she could thank Michonne. She didn't have to do any of this. Didn't have to buy her clothes, didn't have to offer her the use of her bathtub. Didn't have to be so kind.

Same with the Sheriff. He didn't have to help her more than making sure she wasn't in immediate danger. She wanted to confide in him. Really wanted to tell him her name, her real name. But fell short. It was on the tip of her tongue, but she failed to retrieve it like so many other memories, like so many other things unsaid. It was just out of her reach. She was stuck in a limbo of sorts. It felt as though she didn't have a past she could go back to and as far as she knew, she didn't have a future.

What would she say anyway? Where did she begin? No doubt, Daryl and Michonne would think she was foolish having ended up at The Sanctuary.

She cupped her hands under the running water, letting the heart pour over them, soaking it in. She hadn't been warm in what felt like years. Closing her eyes, she strained to remember something, anything, from before she went to The Sanctuary. She had to have a life before then. What had it been like? Why did she leave it? Certainly, it couldn't have been worse than The Sanctuary.

At first, it wasn't that bad. Her enchantment of The Sanctuary didn't start to wane for a couple of years. The fact it took that long made her cringe. Negan made her feel special. Called her beautiful. Said she reminded him of an angel with her glowing blonde hair. She felt so stupid for falling for it. He made it clear she couldn't survive without him. And she believed him.

What if he was right? Maybe she couldn't survive without him. She wasn't doing a very good job of it so far. What did she expect when she took off? No place to go. No money. Just the clothes on her back.

She knew she had to go when she had the chance... before she became one of Negan's girls.

Negan's girls. At first, the idea appealed to her. It was something she strived to become. It was a position of importance. To be chosen by such an enlightened person was an honor. Or, so she thought. She wasn't exactly sure when it became clear to her what Negan's girls actually were. Once she did figure it out, she had no desire to become one of his concubines.

Cupping the water in her hands she splashed it on her face. It felt magnificent against her skin, washing away the tears and dirt. Adding strawberry scented soap to her hands she scrubbed every inch of her body. From the top of her head, down to her toes. Dunking her head under the faucet, she let the water rinse away the soap from her skin and the dirt stuck in her soul.

Her mind was killing her. She could only remember the things she didn't want to remember. Her throat was charred coal, burning with words she couldn't speak. Her head pounded. Her heart, heavy.

Finally, she laid back in the tub sinking down below the now murky water. Opening her eyes, the water stung them, carrying her tears away. Holding her breath, she found that if she didn't struggle, she floated.

. . .

"So, who is the girl?" Rick asked. He made himself comfortable in the kitchen sitting at the island.

"Want a Coke?" Michonne asked as she made her way to the fridge. When she turned to face him, a can of Coke in each hand, he was looking at her. Waiting for an answer.

"She's just someone we're helping at the station."

He took the Coke from her and popped the top, took a drink and leaned back in the chair, propping his arm up and around the back. "She seems to be… upset," he decided that was the right word - upset.

"She is," Michonne agreed.

She leaned on the island across from Rick. She'd love to pick his brain, get his opinion on Angel's situation. But that wouldn't be right, he was no longer the sheriff. But, if she was just talking with a friend...

Rick had quickly grown into a friend since the day she found herself at his house when he'd been target shooting and subsequently hired him to do a few jobs around her house. She found herself looking forward to their conversations that rarely stayed on the subject of the work he was doing for her. She'd go home for lunch to check the progress, only to find herself reluctant to head back to work after the lunch hour was up. Not because she didn't want to work, she just wanted to stay with Rick.

"We found her up on the mountain. She won't talk. Won't tell us where she's been or what happened to her. Most we've been able to get out of her is her name."

His eyebrows rose, "That's tough."

"Uh huh."

The way he looked at her, his eyes boring into hers, made her feel uncomfortable, made her want to squirm under his direct attention. It didn't matter how he made her feel, she reminded herself. He was just someone he hired to work on her house.

"I just want to help her."

"And you will," he assured with a nod of his head.

She eyed him suspiciously. He seemed so sure of her and her capabilities even though he didn't know her.

. . .

A while later, Michonne wasn't sure just how long it'd been - that's how it was with Rick, she'd get lost in their conversations, they were interrupted. Not by Angel. By Mike. He was home early from work. He moved in with her soon after their reconciliation. She'd yet to tell Daryl this. He wouldn't say as much, but he'd be disappointed in her.

Great. Just great, Michonne thought to herself. She could guess how he'd react to Rick sitting at the kitchen island. He objected to Michonne hiring Rick from the get-go.

She stood straight as though she had anything to feel guilty over. "Hey, Mike. You're home early," she said with a fake cheeriness that didn't escape Rick.

Mike eyed Rick, who didn't bother to move from his spot. He then nodded tightly at Michonne. "Can I talk to you please?" Looking pointedly at Rick, he said, "Alone."

Rick slowly took a drink of his Coke, eyeing Mike over the can, and noisily scooted the chair back and stood. "Guess I'll go have that smoke now," he announced and sauntered out the glass door that led to the deck.

"He reeks like motor oil and weed," Mike began once Rick was out of sight. And what are you thinking? Cozying up to him like you were."

"We weren't cozied up," Michonne laughed. "There was a four foot slab of marble between us."

"Didn't look that way to me."

"Well, maybe you were looking at it from the wrong angle," Michonne sassed trying her best to ignore the anxiety this conversation was beginning to give her. Things with Mike had been going okay, at best. She thought maybe he'd changed and it seemed like he had at first. As time went on, she was worried he hadn't.

She went to walk away but he grasped her by the elbow. Her eyes went from were his fingers dug into her skin to his face.

"You can't let just any stray into our home that's had a hard time in life. This isn't the pound."

Fire roared in her eyes. "For starters," she began to tell him a thing or two.

Michonne didn't hear so much as sense Angel standing in the hallway. She had no way of knowing how much of her and Mike's conversation she heard. She hoped she didn't hear any of it. The way she stood back in the shadows, clutching a plastic bag to her chest with her old clothing inside told Michonne she probably heard it all.

"And who is this?" Mike gestured with his free hand. "Another one of your strays?"

Angle's cheeks were red with a fresh washing and fresh tears shone in her eyes. Michonne swore under her breath and snatched her arm from Mike.

"Hey," she said recovering quickly from her and Mike's altercation. She noticed Angel's long hair was clean, but still a tangled mess. "Oh, I forgot to get you a comb. I'll show you where I keep them."

. . .

After coming up with nothing searching through databases and the internet, Daryl decided to start where he found her.

Leaving the station in the care of one of their part-time deputies, he headed up the mountain. Stopping at the few Amish homesteads along the way. No one claimed to have a missing person and after some awkward conversations, he made it to the only road that led up the mountain.

The weather was noticeably cooler the further his truck climbed and by the time he got to the Sutton's property, it was spitting snow. After a brief conversation with Tammy Rose, with her permission, he began his search near the tree where he found Angel. Though it'd been some time, her bare footprints were still visible. He was able to follow them down a trail for a few hundred feet.

What was it like for her to be out here? Alone. In the dark. He was certain she had been in the forest the night before he found her. He'd grown up on the mountain, it got remarkably dark, even with a full moon. To him, the mountain meant solitude. If life got to be too much, he'd come up here. The trees, the mountain, it'd wash his spirit clean of any despondency he might be feeling. To someone alone and running away from someone or something, it had to be terrifying.

Her tracks disappeared and reappeared randomly, but he continued to follow the trail until he came to a clearing. Not just any clearing. A cemetery.

The grey weeds were overgrown, making it easy to follow a path of freshly tramped down grass. He followed it to a hollowed out tree. Using his phone's flashlight, he saw by the trampled down dirt something had made it a bed. Could be an animal, could be anything. Except for the single footprint at the edge of the opening told him otherwise.

He took a few pictures with his phone of the tree, the hole at its base, the footprint, as well as the cemetery as a whole.

The cold fresh air, which he normally found energizing, took on an ominous feeling. The overgrown cemetery, the gaping hole at the base of the tree, knowing with all probability that Angel spent the night there… it all made him unsettled. It was no wonder the girl had one foot in another world.

. . .

When he got back to the station, Angel was sleeping in the back room. Daryl studied her from the doorway of the back room. He imagined it was normal for someone in her situation to sleep a lot. Emotionally this whole situation was as exhausting as it was physically.

Hell, even he was tired. Course he hadn't really slept since he found her, staying close to the station, catching a few winks at his desk when he was able.

He needed to turn away and go back to his desk. Stop watching her like some sort of freak. He was only curious about her. Curious about where she'd been. What she'd been through. Will she ever talk? She looked young, fragile, with her head laid gently on the pillow. Curled up in a ball again.

Just as he was about to turn away, her eyes opened, fully focused on him. She didn't appear alarmed or worried, she only stared at him. Deep blue penetrating his grey mind.

As she sat up on the cot, he went to her, his feet moving on their own accord. Her eyes followed him until he was standing next to her. She looked up at him, eyes large and vulnerable. Her long hair flowing down her back was clean and brushed, skin scrubbed pink.

Knowing where she stayed before she came to be with him made his heart ache for her all the more. He was grateful, yes grateful, she was there with him now.

The very tips of his fingers traced lightly across her skin, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

His voice deep and rugged, almost painful. He spoke a simple word, "Hey."

Her eyes softened, leaned her head slightly toward his hand. He quickly snatched his hand back when he realized he'd touched her. He had no right to touch her.

Had no right to want to touch her.

* * *

**Slooooowwww burn!**


	7. Refusal of Death, Hope to Live

No one knew what happened to Angel. One day she just wasn't there. There were rumblings among the Saviors. Rumors, no one really knew anything. Sherry was the first person to shut down those rumors that were buzzing around. No one knew for sure, what gave them the right to talk about it?

Angel had been Sherry's first friend and The Sanctuary. Her best friend, next to Dwight. They shared a shack, nothing more than a 12x12 room, and became fast friends and made the best of it.

It killed Sherry to be away from Dwight. Negan kept the couple's that came to The Sanctuary apart, something they weren't made aware of until they got there. Dwight and Sherry tried to live by the rules of The Sanctuary. It was something they believed in and wanted to do their part, working towards bettering the world.

Staying apart proved too difficult. So, they snuck around like a couple of teenagers forbidden to see one another. Angel was the only other person that knew they still saw each other and Sherry was certain she'd never tell.

Negan kept the husbands from the wives, boyfriends from girlfriends. He said they shouldn't need the individual love of one person. The only one allowed to have sex with anyone else was Negan. Something that didn't occur to her as strange, unfair even, until after Angel left. Angel, in her absence, opened Sherry's eyes. She began to question everything and everyone.

Angel was next in line to become one of the wives. Sherry thought Angel was excited about it up until a few months ago. Then Angel became quiet until she hardly spoke at all. She definitely didn't talk about it unless you brought it up with her first. And even then she kept the conversation short.

The wives had a purpose; to provide inspiration for Negan to continue his plight against the common world. He's building a new world, a better world, he'd say. They also served another purpose. A woman's ultimate purpose. He and the women were going to repopulate the world with enlightened people. He took that plight seriously if you judged by the number of babies the wives were continually having.

Angel helped deliver the babies. A job she took seriously. A job she was good at. She learned from another member, Denise. A young woman that had been a doctor of some kind in her life before. Through a makeshift apprenticeship, and with no shortage of babies to deliver, Angel learned quickly. She had a calming effect and a sharp mind.

Sherry thought it was strange she'd leave right before becoming a wife. She thought it even stranger still Angel would just abandon her post as lay midwife when there were more than a couple babies due in the next few months.

Negan had personally questioned every single person in the group. Focusing intently on Sherry since she and Angel were close. Normally, Sherry would have relished in one on one attention from Negan. Now, however, he was angry, miles away from the zen individual he pretended to be. She began to wonder if this - this mad, childish, frenzied man was the real Negan.

Whatever her reasons, Angel left and Sherry was still here and she missed her sister immensely. They weren't real sisters of course. Their bond was deep-seated and Sherry had a feeling the bond wouldn't go away with time. She was also afraid now that Angel was gone, Sherry would be next to become one of Negan's girls.

. . .

Daryl thought it was time Angel got out of the station. She'd gone to Michonne's for a shower or a bath if not every day then every other day. To him, that didn't really qualify as going somewhere.

Word had gotten around about the mystery girl they'd picked up in the mountains. People were curious. Some even going as far as stopping in the station to try and get a peek of her. Jessie, their receptionist and held them off pretty well. She had a sweet face but was tough and knew how to handle people. Respectfully, she kept her distance from Angel.

Michonne had been pressing him about what they planned to do with Angel. Going as far as finding a women's shelter that was open to taking her in. That didn't sit well with him. Michonne had a point, she couldn't say there with him forever. Just ditching her at some shelter felt achingly wrong.

She hadn't so much as said another word since she said her name. They were no closer to finding out who she was than the first day she was found up on the mountain.

A foot of heavy and wet snow had fallen on the mountain the day he'd followed her tracks to the cemetery, destroying other footprints and any other possible evidence there may have been left. Once it melted he'd head back up there. He wasn't giving up. His search was only delayed. This delay was due to snow. It had nothing to do with his want to keep her here.

It probably wouldn't hurt to get her face out in the community. See if anyone recognized her. She'd be safe with him. He tried to convince her of this but she was doubtful. He didn't know it was possible to get into a disagreement with someone that doesn't talk, yet here they were.

"Come on, you need to get out. And, no, Michonne's don't count," he said, reading her thoughts.

Her bottom lip protruded adorably ever so slightly as she looked down at her feet. The toe of her shoe drawing circles on the linoleum.

"Ain't you tired of canned soup?" He questioned.

He had gotten take out a few times, she just didn't seem to have much of an appetite. "I don't think I can eat another can of Chicken Noodle." He'd even resorted to buying something called No Chicken Noodle Soup in case she was, in fact, a vegetarian.

"Hey, we can even stop by the used bookstore. You can pick up a few more books," he offered knowing she'd gone through all of Jessie's books she kept on the premises and had started re-reading them.

That got her attention. Face downturned, she looked up at him, eyes peeking out of her long bangs.

"I'm sure you can find something new to read there. Come on, food and books and of course me," he teased.

A small smile creased her lips. She'd been more free with her smiles as of late. Just tiny, little smiles when he tried to make a joke or make her laugh.

. . .

It wasn't her intention to be difficult. She just wasn't hungry. It was kind of him to buy her vegetarian soup. She wasn't a vegetarian per se. At the Sanctuary, they did eat a mostly vegetarian diet. She ate what they offered or she starved. Judging by how small she'd gotten, she hadn't been eating enough for a while. Her lack of appetite started a long time ago. The idea of reintroducing foods she was sure she hadn't eaten in years made her both hungry and queasy.

Daryl, that's what she'd come to think of him as now, no longer sheriff or sheriff Dixon, seemed particularly eager to get her out.

Her mind raced. What if someone saw her and reported back to Negan where she was? Though she couldn't be sure, she thought this was most likely the town closest to The Sanctuary. They had people all over the state. All over the United States for all she knew. You weren't supposed to say where you were from but The Saviors came from everywhere, a few as far as Alaska. That was part of your past and according to Negan your past no longer existed. It still got out where people had come from.

Sherry had been from California where she met and married Dwight. She wasn't sure how they ended up at The Sanctuary.

She hadn't recruited anyone into the group herself. The guilt she felt for any part she had in those that came to The Sanctuary weighed heavily on her consciousness. She had spouted Negan's attributes. Repeating the rhetoric she was taught. She'd never be able to make up for that.

And the babies. The babies she helped bring into that horrible place. The last baby she helped to deliver, little baby Megan, a play on Negan's own name, almost didn't make it. She was born blue, the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck. To hear Negan flippantly reply to the news made her sick to this day. He told Denise if there is even a chance the baby might have any cognitive problems due to lack of oxygen to get rid of it because he didn't want her tainting his sanctuary. Denise had lied, looking from Angel to the tiny baby swaddled in her arms. Said baby Megan was fine. The truth was they didn't know what or even if there would be any issues in the future.

It was like a slap in the face to Angel. The straw the broke the camel's back, so to speak. The wake up call she needed. It was months before she saw the opportunity to leave and she had grasped it with both hands.

Reluctantly, she agreed to go with Daryl. The promise of new (used) books was enough of a push. That Daryl wanted her to go wasn't a factor. No. She _didn't _notice the hope in his sharp blue eyes. She_ didn't_ notice his broad shoulders as he sat in front of her hunched in the folding chair. She _didn't _wonder those shoulder would feel like under hands. No. She'd be crazy to notice those things in the situation she was in.

. . .

Angel could have spent hours at the used bookstore. She hadn't been able to read anything at The Sanctuary. Not even stories to the children. The majority of the school-aged kids that had been born there didn't even know how to read. Now back in civilization, she devoted everything she got her hands on. Didn't matter the genre. Nonfiction, biographies, the towns tiny newspaper, technical manuals.

_This one is really good,_ Jessie had told her when she noticed Angel looking at the books that lined the shelf behind the front counter. There were all kinds of books on police procedure and the like. A small stack of paperbacks was on the very edge, shoved away from the rest. Jessie placed her hand on the stack and said, These are mine, it gets slow here sometimes if I get everything else done, I read. But you're welcome to them if you'd like to read them. Jessie then handed her a book that boasted the author to be Nora Roberts in big black bold letters. Befuddled by yet another person's kindness, Angel took the book. After she finished that book, she plowed through that stack in no time.

While she was walking the lined shelves at the bookstore, she stayed within sight of Dary. It eased her frazzled nerves from being away from the station. He'd occasionally catch her eye, giving her a little wink or a slight nod, a jut of the chin.

The bookstore had hundreds of books and she could have gone wild, but she felt guilty enough mooching off of Daryl so she held back, only picking three very worn books for a total price of seventy-five cents. Sliding up next to Daryl at the counter where he patiently stood the whole time making small talk with the woman that worked there, she placed them on the counter.

The woman behind the counter had short greying hair and a kind smile, behind that smile Angel saw a mischievousness that made her weary. Mischief brought trouble at The Sanctuary. She continually had to remind herself she was no longer there. The same rules do not apply.

"Angel this is Carol, she owns the bookstore."

Carol nodded. She knew who Angel was. Everyone did. "Well, looks like you settled on some good choices," she commented as she punched in the price of the books into the ancient cash register. "Oh, Clan of the Cave Bear," she said as she lifted a very thick, very warn book. "I loved this when I was younger. Have you read it?" She asked Angel.

Daryl waited a beat, willing to jump in at any second to cover for her. Carol knew Angel wasn't talking right now. Still, he was curious. Maybe it'd take the right person to get her to speak. After a moment, she only shook her head in the negative.

Carol nodded again, this time her eyes held more warmth and less mischievousness. "Well, I bet you'll love it. It's got a good message. You never know how strong you are until you have to be," she looked poignantly at Angel and for some reason that she didn't understand, Carol's eyes filled with tears making her own eyes fill. Carol quickly shook off the mood and she bagged up her books and Daryl handed over a dollar bill. Carol gave him his change and handed Angel the bag. "You let me know what you think of Clan of the Cave Bear, Angel." Turning her attention to Daryl, she said, "It was good to see you. Don't be such a stranger."

"You got it, Carol. Thanks," Daryl told her.

They exited the building and walked over to a small restaurant. The town was decorated for the holiday season. Pine garland wound the lamp poles. White twinkle lights were strung through the trees that lined Main Street. It was probably pretty to the people who lived there. It only made Angel feel anxious and hollow. Like something was missing.

The wind was cold and Angel wrapped herself in the jacket Daryl had given her to wear. She was sure it was his as he was only wearing his sweatshirt. She hoped the bagginess of the coat hid her shivering body. She was cold, the shivering having nothing to do with the temperature. She crossed the road, head down, making eye contact with no one. For such a brisk afternoon, there was no lack of people around. Everyone hollering out a _Hello, Sheriff_, or a _How's it going, Sheriff?_ Thankfully no one stopped him.

The smells that greeted them when they entered the diner made Angel's stomach actually growl for the first time in… she couldn't even remember. They slid into a booth so tiny their knees touched. Daryl handed Angel a menu that was shoved between a ketchup bottle and a napkin dispenser, taking one for himself.

The waitress sauntered up to their table, giving them a bright smile of straight white teeth. Her thick wavy hair was pulled back in a high ponytail. "Hey there Sheriff. How you doin'?"

"I'm good, Rosita. How 'bout yourself?"

"Oh, I'm good. Ya' know, just living the dream." She looked over to Angel as though she didn't see her at first. "You got company," she pointed out.

"Yep. This is Angel."

Something in her pretty chocolate eyes told Angel she knew who she was. Angel grasped her hands together in her lap. Don't be paranoid she doesn't know you, she reassured herself. She felt the weight of Daryl's hand on her knee under the table. That little show of support helped slow her breath and soon the feeling passed. She was a waitress, not one of Negan's people. Angel's cheeks reddened with embarrassment.

"Nice to meet you," Rosita smiled. Holding an order pad out in front of her with a pencil at the ready she asked, "What can I start you off with?"

Daryl ordered them Cokes - Coke, the thought made her mouth water. Like everything else, she hadn't had Coke in a very long time

Looking over the menu, she read over the bold black letters and the description under each. It all looked good. Food is only fuel. It didn't need to taste good to sustain your body , Negan's words rang in her ears.

"Anything you want," Daryl spoke, gaining her attention. She looked at him over the menu, he had already returned his menu to its spot in between the ketchup and napkins. Angel chewed her lip, wondering just how long she'd been staring at the menu. Quickly she looked over it again, her eyes kept landing on a picture of a hamburger with the works and fries on the side. Her mouth watered again. Placing the menu flat on the table she pointed at the picture.

Daryl's eyebrows rose into the shadow of the brim of his hat and smiled a half smile. "Excellent choice."

After he placed their order, Daryl leaned forward, caught her nervous eye. She felt like everyone was staring at her.

"I know what you're thinkin'. And you're probably right. They probably are staring at you. But it's only 'cause they're curious. They don't mean no harm."

His words comforted her if only a little. Once the food was served, she didn't care if Negan himself came strolling through the door. Well. That was a lie. She would indeed care. But nothing was coming in between her and the first hamburger she'd had in at least five years.

Daryl tried not to stare. He'd never seen anyone enjoy a burger quite like Angel was. She chewed slowly. Closing her eyes. She cleared her plate and drank two glasses of soda. She didn't seem concerned when he stood to pay their bill at the counter. While she waited, she took out one of her new old books and began reading.

As he took the cash out his wallet, Rosita stood behind the counter, waiting for the cash, she pointedly asked, "Why doesn't she talk?" Rosita always said what she thought.

Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he counted out the bills slowly. "She just don't want to yet," was the simplest response he could come up with. He hadn't expected anyone to question him quite so bluntly.

She pursed her pretty red lips. "Uh huh. Wish I could just not talk. Though I'd probably be fired."

Daryl chuckled. "Talking is kind of a prerequisite to waitressing."

"Though I'm sure he can talk enough for the both of them," Rosita said, taking the cash and pointing to where he left Angel at the booth. Jesus leaned against the table, talking to Angel who only stared up at him with big fearful eye. Daryl heard Jesus saying something about showing her around town.

Like hell he'd let that happen.

He swore under his breath and quickly made his way back to the table. "Can I help ya', Jesus?" He asked, clasping a hand, a little too hard, on his shoulder.

Jesus winced under his hand. "Just meeting the new girl in town," he replied. "That against the law?"

"Maybe," he answered. Only half kidding. "Ya' ready?" He asked Angel.

She quickly scooted out of the booth. Head down, hand clutching the plastic bag with her books in it.

"See ya' Jesus. Stay outta trouble, " Daryl told him effectively ending the conversation he was trying to have with Angel - a girl that didn't talk. Rosita was right, that wouldn't stop Jesus, he talked too damn much.

Once back outside and on their way back to the station, Daryl began to apologize. "Sorry 'bout that. Jesus means no harm, he just comes on a little strong. A lot strong," he amended. "I shoulda' kept an eye out for ya'."

He stopped talking when she stopped mid step along the sidewalk. She touched his arm lightly. Her hand was so cold, he felt it penetrating his skin through two layers of clothing. He felt something else there too, unsure of what that something was, he focused on the cold. The cold was easier to understand.

She was shaking her head, telling him it was fine. To not worry about Jesus. Without words, she communicated. But then she did talk aloud.

"Thank you," she said quietly, yet assuredly. "For…" She stumbled on the words.

He nodded, smiled small. "It's okay."

. . .

It's okay? She finally talks and this was his response? He felt he really fucked that up. She must have felt it was an adequate response though because she dropped her hand from his arm and continued walking down the sidewalk.

When they made it back to the station and before Angel disappeared into the back room, he asked her to sit at the extra chair by his desk. He meant to bring this up at the diner, she seemed to be enjoying her food way too much to interrupt her.

"I been in contact with a social worker," he began.

Her eyes grew large again, she sat back and away from him. He leaned forward. He didn't want to lose her. He wanted her to hear him out.

He'd also been in contact with the psychologist that Dr. Tara suggested. He'd keep that to himself. No reason to upset her more. He left a message and his secretary called him back only to say the doctor was on vacation and wouldn't be back for three weeks. Who takes a three week vacation, he wondered? A psychologist, that's who, he supposed. Not a sheriff, that's for sure.

"Their hands are tied because you are over eighteen. At least I'm guessing you are above eighteen."

It was small, but she nodded. Baby steps. She ate. She spoke and gave him confirmation she was over eighteen. Maybe he didn't fuck things up that badly?

"She gave me a few ideas. One of them, the most promising so it seems, was a non-profit organization that helps women get on their feet after they leave abusive situations."

He studied her. Her worried face. Her hands clenched on her legs.

"Is that what happened? Did you leave a boyfriend? Or a husband? Hell, your parents? Parents can be abusive too." He knew that all too well.

As always, he didn't want to overwhelm her but she had been there a month now. He liked having her around. Her face lit up his day and even though she didn't speak, they had formed an unconventional sort of friendship.

It made him uncomfortable, the idea of her going somewhere else, it was time to take the next steps. Whatever they may end up being.

. . .

Christmas time was always hard. Sure, the family tried to put up a brave front and go on with their lives, but on the inside, everyone was hurting. Being Beth's mother, Annette especially hurt. She went about putting out the decorations. Every single one brought up a memory of Beth. A perpetual lump remained in her throat during the season. She fought back tears as she did every single year. It never got easier. It just became more a part of their lives.

She knew in her heart Beth was alive. Hershel, though he wanted desperately for her to be alive, leaned more toward the thought that she must not be, because if she were she would have reached out to them by now.

It had been five long years, five Christmases since they saw their youngest child. One day she was there, the next day she was not. Leaving behind a note that was brief and so unlike her. Mom and Dad, I'm sorry but I have to go. Don't look for me. I love you, Beth. The Beth they knew and loved would never have done that to them.

She had missed so much. So many holidays, so many birthdays. Maggie met and married a man and they moved to Atlanta. They had children. Beth had a niece and nephew she'd never met. Shawn was living with his girlfriend and they had a child on the way. They all were busy with their own lives, which they have every right to be. It didn't take the sting out of missing Beth.

Yes, Christmas was hard but it was after the holidays that Annette dreaded the most. After the hustle and bustle of the holidays, the stillness once again entered their home. The remaining winter months became almost unbearable. She kept busy, babysat her grandkids when it was needed. She had her knitting group. She volunteered. And this big old house didn't keep itself. But as long as Beth was gone she would continue to walk around with a huge chunk of her heart missing.

She would never give up on her daughter. The police did a basic search. Ultimately they said she was over the age of eighteen and could leave without anyone's consent or even letting her own mother know. It was nonsense if you asked her.

Still, the hope she carried in her heart refused to die.

* * *

**Thanks so much for reading! Leave a comment! Sorry this one took me so long. *cringe* **


	8. To Sleep in the Arms of a Madman

Angel was as restless of a sleeper now as she was when she first got there. She tossed and turned, her long hair a snarled mess by morning. She also talked in her sleep. Nothing Daryl could decipher, just mumblings with an occasional word thrown in here or there. He never told her she talked in her sleep. He thought it might make her feel self-conscious. His aim was to make her comfortable as possible. The more comfortable she felt the more likely she was to open up.

Occasionally she'd wake from a nightmare with a shriek or a yelp. He'd go to her and she would back up on the cot until her back pressed flat against the wall. He quickly learned to stop at the doorway leading into the room. She seemed okay with that. Comforted. She'd settle back down under the blanket and he'd stand there and wait for her eyes, staring at him, to blur and finally close. He'd wait for her breathing to return to even inhales and exhales before going back to his desk.

He hadn't slept in his own bed in a long time. He returned to the house long enough to shower and change his clothes, quickly returning back to the station. He still maintained his job as Sheriff, but he stayed close to the station when he could. Dozing at his desk or the cot in the jail cell when he got really tired. He wondered how long he could keep this up.

It was ridiculous that he didn't like being away from Angel. He'd have to, though. The organization that helped women start over, so to speak, had returned his call sooner than he expected and said he was in luck, they happened to have an opening at their center and were able to take in Angel.

He hadn't told Angel about this yet. She was upset when he brought it up to her after their venture to the bookstore and the diner. He was sure she was on the cusp of telling him more but had clammed up again after he brought up the social worker and the women's center, not divulging anything else to him. He felt like he'd betrayed her trust by contacting them. Nevertheless, the center had more access to help than he did. They'd, no doubt, be able to help her. This wasn't about him or the dull ache in his chest when he thought about taking her to a strange place and leaving her there.

Now a week later, he'd just started to doze off at his desk when Angel stirred. He sat up, waiting to see if she'd settle back down. She didn't settle. As a matter of fact, her stirring turned to thrashing and was accompanied by a feral growl sound.

He was up and by her side in two seconds. She was kicking at the blanket that was tangled around her feet and ankles.

"Easy. It's okay. It's just a dream," he murmured calmly, removing the blanket from her feet. Once free she jumped to her feet and was out the door and heading down the hall to the back door.

He jogged to catch up. "Where you goin', Angel! You can't go out there now. It's freezing and the middle of the night."

He met her at the door, reaching around, he held onto the bar, holding it shut. It was locked, but the lock was loose and in her state she might be able to bust it with one hard shove. Giving the door one last slap with her palm, she turned and faced Daryl. Her face flushed, eyes big. No fear this time. Anger flared brightly in her blue eyes instead.

"What?" he asked. Maybe the anger she felt would propel her to speak.

"I…," she began.

Looking into those fierce eyes, Daryl grasped her elbows. She was freezing again. "You what?"

"I just left everyone."

"Everyone who?"

His pulsed raced through his fingertips and into her skin. Get it together, Dixon. He was a cop and in the Army before that. He'd been in much more stressful, even life or death, situations than this. Why did the stakes feel so high?

"Everyone," she said again and rounded him, walking back to the backroom, sitting back down on the cot, pulling her legs to chest.

He followed her, not as close this time, giving her space. She obviously, to his relief, wasn't leaving. She leaned against the wall and ran a hand through her wild hair. His own hand itched to do the same.

After some time, when it was clear she wasn't going to say anything more, he said, "Maybe you could read to me?"

. . .

"With life comes change," Negan began.

Negan held meetings in the dinner hall. The only building big enough to hold all of them. They had meetings multiple times a week. Sometimes they would be brief, other times Negan would go on and on. Who knew what tonight would bring.

"And with that change, we have to bend and mold. But we must not break! The life we lead is not for everyone. We must be a strong breed. I did not choose the weak." Murmurs of agreement sounded through the crowd. People nodded their heads. Some lightly applauded.

"Yes, some bend, but others break. Regrettably, we had a break in the chain."

Negan stood at the front, pacing back and forth as he spoke. The women sat to the right, the men sat to the left. Negan's wives sat front and center. Dwight and Simon stood off to the right of Negan. The children, walking age and older, were sent to another room where they were being watched by the older children. From where she sat on the uncomfortable wooden bench, Sherry tried to decipher what Negan was talking about.

"When I started this community... this sanctuary, there were only a few of us. Can you believe that? Just me 'n Simon." He clasped the mustachioed man's shoulder, smiling warmly at him. Affectionately even.

"Simon's my right hand man. It's important to have one. Without 'em what do you have? A whole lot of work," Negan joked. Chuckles sounded through the crowd. Negan hung his head, bashfully smiling. Splaying an outstretched hand to quiet the crowd after an appropriate amount of laughter. By now just about everyone, save for the few new recruits, knew how it went. Negan made a joke, you had better laugh.

Turning serious, he said, "And my beautiful Lucille, God rest her soul," he shook his head, closed his eyes for a moment as though fighting back tears.

What Negan didn't mention was how his wife suffered up here for months before finally succumbing to the cancer that had overtaken her body. He refused to let anyone near her for days after she died until he finally had to bury her which he did so himself.

Recovering quickly enough from the brief bought of emotion, he went on, "I promised her I'd make the world better. The kind of world she deserved. So I began building that world. Soon, more and more people joined me, eventually expanding to all of you wonderful people." Negan smiled proudly, straight white teeth showing, much like a father looks at his children.

"As you know, Lucille and I were never blessed with children. Something Lucille, naturally, found devastating. It was of her authority that it was our job to bring children into this world. Children we could raise and show the righteous path."

Negan's idea of righteousness was not one of biblical subset, it was one created in his own depraved mind. One no one, not even those who had been there the longest, quite understood. Misdirection was the key to his ways.

"We are The Saviors," Negan said with awe. Awe dripping with self-righteousness. "People," his voice growing in enthusiasm, "People like us are a resource. A wealth of ingenuity against the unintelligent, dull-witted masses that run amok today."

"This is why it is important for us not to become distracted, to keep our eye on the ball. To. Not. Break," he emphasized each word. "We will miss our dearly departed Angel. She was a weak one, but we will learn from her. From her mistakes."

Though you couldn't tell it by looking at her, Sherry's heart dropped to her stomach. What did he mean? Did he mean Angel had died? It wasn't too far fetched for Negan to not tell anyone that Angel ran off and that they couldn't find her. That would be admitting there was a weak leak in their Sanctuary. But what if she hadn't ran off after all? What if she'd done something wrong and they killed her? What if she did run away and they caught and killed her?

Sherry leaned forward, catching Dwight's eye from where he stood. He subtly raised a shoulder, wordlessly telling her he also knew nothing. He'd tell her if he did. He knew what Angel met to her.

Negan reached down into the front row, grasping the newest of involuntary recruits. He cradled the infant in his arms tenderly, cooing quietly to her. She was wrapped in white, from her tiny little hat to her tiny little socks that kept slipping off her slim feet.

Sherry eyed the baby's mother sitting on a bench. No older than eighteen. She smiled up at Negan through starry eyes as though he held the key to the universe.

"This is why we are here. To keep my Lucille's dream alive. This is why we are doing this. This is why we must remain strong. Steadfast and subjugated." He held up the baby who slept blissfully through it all.

Sherry found herself jealous of the baby's ability to sleep while being held by a madman.

. . .

Daryl entered the room, took the folding metal chair from the corner and brought it closer to the cot. They'd grown more comfortable with each other, still, he tried to respect the little area she claimed as her own.

Sitting, he said, "I just thought maybe reading might make the words come easier."

He'd heard her whispering the words to herself as she read at night when the station became deafeningly quiet and she thought he was asleep. He grabbed the book that laid on the edge of the cot and handed it to her.

She looked at him and the book suspiciously.

"Tell me what these Cave Bears are about," he suggested.

Her face went softer then, the last of the anger slipping away. She took the book and he held his breath.

When something major happens in someone's life you don't always realize it's going to be a pivotal moment. It's not until later that it becomes clear just how important it ended up being. When Angel opened the book and began to read where she left off he didn't know how or why he just _knew_ this was going to be one of those pivotal moments in his life.

Daryl didn't move, didn't breath for fear of scaring her voice away. It was sweet. Quiet. A bit scratchy since she hardly talked in the weeks she'd been with him. She was only reading a book, but damn, she was finally speaking.

"_Ayla tried to respond properly, did everything he commanded as quickly as she could. She didn't know there was freedom in her step, an unconscious carry-over from roaming the forests and fields; pride in her bearing from learning a difficult skill and doing it better than someone else; a growing self-confidence in her mien. She didn't know why he picked on her more than anyone else. Boris didn't know himself why she annoyed him so much. It was indefinable, and she could no more have changed it than she could change the color of his eyes._

_At a deep, unconscious level, Broud sensed the opposing destinies of the two. Ayla was more than a threat to his masculinity, she was a threat to his existence. His hatred of her was the hatred of the old for the new, of the traditional for the innovative, of the dying for the living. Broud's race was too static, too unchanging. They had reached the peak of their development; there was no more room to grow. Ayla was part of nature's new experiment, and though she tried to model herself after the women of the clan, it was only an overlay, a façade only culture-deep, assumed for the sake of survival. She was already finding ways around it, in answer to a deep need that sought an avenue of expression. And though she tried in every way she could to please the overbearing young man, inwardly she began to rebel."_

He sat mesmerized by her voice, leaning in, elbows on his knees, until they were a foot apart. The tiny space of the backroom felt even smaller.

When her voice finally faltered, tears were streaming down her face. Dropping the book to her lap, a sob hiccuped from her throat. "I left them," she said again.

"Who?" Daryl asked, touching her lightly on her knee. "Who did you leave?"

"Sherry. Dwight. The babies. They're so innocent. They didn't ask to be born there."

"Where?"

"Ya' tell me and maybe I can find a way to help them. Sherry and Dwight? Are they your family?"

. . .

The words became jumbled again. Angel lowered her head, pressed her lips together. Tears streamed down her face. Frustration had reached its peak. She was correct when she said she left them; Sherry, Dwight. The babies. Just deserted them, only thinking of herself. How could she, she wondered as she looked at Daryl through her watery vision, struggling to understand.

His brow was furrowed, his apparent concern confused her. Sure, she supposed, this would be of interest to him. A cult (that's what she had come to the crushing realization she had found herself in the thick of) nestled away in the mountains of his jurisdiction. That had to be it. He wasn't actually concerned about her personally.

Was he?

And what a selfish thought that was, she reprimanded herself. Negan spoke against her self absorption regularly. Calling out those who he thought didn't put The Sanctuary first. Thinking someone wasn't committed to The Sanctuary was absurd. Just being there was putting The Sanctuary, putting Negan, first. One gave up everything to be there.

She found she trusted Daryl more and more every day. On the other hand, she had trusted Negan and where did that get her?

The thought was enough to jam the words in her throat like a stopper in a drain.

. . .

"No, she can't stay here," Mike said with little more interest than if she had said she was thinking of switching to 2% milk instead of Almond Milk.

Michonne leaned against the sink, eating Cheerios from a bowl she held in her hand. She wasn't hungry but if she didn't eat now she'd regret it later.

Mike sat at the island drinking his coffee and thumbing through the politics section of the New Yorker on his phone. She knew this because Mike was very predictable. He did the same thing every morning before work. Not that she was much better.

"Angel just not really ready to be alone yet and Daryl is reluctant to take her to the center the social worker suggested."

Mike looked up at her, an eyebrow arched. "Then let Daryl take her in."

Totally losing her appetite, she turned her back to Mike and placed the bowl in the sink. It might have been petty, she left it in the sink half full of soggy Cheerios because it will piss Mike off.

"He can't do that. It wouldn't be proper."

"Uh huh, I'm sure he cares about what's proper."

Michonne had had enough for the morning and was through talking to him. She grabbed her jacket and exited out the glass door without so much as a see ya.

Not that he noticed her absence, Michonne simmered as she got into her car. She tried to talk herself out of that way of thinking as she drove to Rick's house. He finished the jobs at her house and when she couldn't come up with anything more for him to do, he sadly no longer came to her house.

She had to pay him though, so she had every right to stop by his house with the cash she owed him. It had nothing to do with her missing him. He did work for her, she had to pay him.

After pounding on his door with residual anger from her morning with Mike, Rick slowly opened it. His shirt was unbuttoned, a trail of dark hair leading down low slung jeans over a taut belly. Hair damp from a morning shower pushed back off his face, a substantial beard grew on his sharp chin. She wasn't sure how she felt about the beard. While it gave him a ruggedly handsome look, it also covered his face. And she quite liked his face.

"Where's the fire?" He asked, leaning against the doorway.

She pushed past him, and into the house. She'd only been inside once before. It was sparsely decorated. An old sofa sat along one wall. A typical Lazy-boy was situated at an angle facing a large television. A single framed picture of his son Carl was propped against a lamp on an end table.

"Ya' know you should think of decorating," she said.

Rick closed the door and faced her. "Why bother?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "You forgot your pay," she said, holding out a small stack of cash.

He eyed her curiously. What was this? The calm and cool Michonne undone about something. "Wasn't worried about it. I know where you live."

He reached for the money, cupping her hand with his own. Didn't take the money, didn't let go either. Their eyes held for so long someone was bound to look away. Neither did. His blue eyes penetrating her brown.

. . .

Daryl woke to a hissing sound. Pssp. Pssp. When he didn't fully rise to consciousness he heard Michonne whisper-yell his name.

He startled from the awkward position he had fallen asleep in. He sat in the metal folding chair next to the cot, his upper body rested on the cot. Angel was on her side, angled in a U shape around him. His hand weighed heavily over hers.

He quickly snatched his hand back and stood ignoring the stabbing pain in his neck, shoulders, and back. Michonne waited at the doorway looking expectantly at him. Hand on her hip, a smile lifting the right side of her mouth.

He put a finger to his lips in a shh-ing motion and jutted his chin towards the other room. She followed him. Of course, she did. She wasn't going to miss out ribbing him about the situation she just found him in.

She followed him into the bathroom where she once again waited at the doorway. Daryl fished out his toothbrush from his pack on the counter. He went through the whole routine of taking it out of the travel case, wetting it, squeezing toothpaste onto the bristles before he paused, looking at Michonne behind him through the reflection of the mirror.

"What?" He finally grumbled before vigorously brushing his teeth.

"Don't what me. What the hell did I just walk in on."

Nothin'. We were sleeping. That's all." He didn't remember actually falling asleep but he did remember placing his hand over hers before they drifted off. His calloused large mitten of a hand over her dainty soft hand. When she turned her hand over in his, linking their fingers together, he felt the calluses she also had.

"Nothin'? Uh huh. Brushing your teeth like you got a dentist appointment in ten minutes is telling me otherwise."

Spitting, he rinsed his toothbrush under the faucet and said, "She just had a bad dream last night."

Michonne eyed him, a look of amusement on her face.

He took a folded uniform shirt from the pack and began unbuttoning the shirt he wore with such concentration you'd think he never unbuttoned a shirt before.

"What about you?" He asked. "You're a little late." They didn't have a set schedule, not really anyway, but you could almost set a watch by Michonne.

It was her turn to become guiltily busy. She left him to change into his clean shirt. He followed her, buttoning it up as he went.

"Where were you, huh?" He teased.

She sat and booted up her computer. "I had to stop over and Rick's place. Pay him for the work he did for me. He got a job, you hear about that?

Daryl went to the coffee machine. "Na'. I hadn't." To this, he felt a little guilty. It was his job to know what's going on in The Sanctuary. He admitted to himself, and no one else, that he'd allowed himself to become preoccupied with Angel. Maybe Michonne was right. Maybe her moving to the women's center was a good thing. He'd be able to get back to his life.

A life without Angel? What kind of life was that exactly? He hardly remembered his life before her. In a few short weeks, she had become part of his life.

* * *

**Sorry, my book nerd is showing in his chapter. **  
**Please, whatever you do, don't watch the movie Clan of the Cave Bears. Read the book! lol**

**Thanks again for reading. Knowing even a small number of people enjoy it makes it worth it. Leave a comment, I read and respond to each one.**


	9. Her Tattered Memory

Like a teenager forbidden to see her boyfriend, Sherry snuck out of her cabin to meet Dwight at midnight in a small clearing just beyond their little village. A wool blanket wrapped around her shoulders along with her coat and ridiculous white nightgown they were required to wear. She'd managed to hang on to a pair of leggins from when they came here. She often wore that underneath, no one seemed to notice, if they did they didn't care. The added warmth was much appreciated. Smoke from the tiny cabins hung heavily in the air. Snow crunched under her ancient boots.

The moon shone brightly lighting her way, though she knew the path as well as the back of her hand by now. She'd been sneaking out to meet with Dwight since the beginning. He somehow slipped her a note during breakfast three weeks into their stint at The Sanctuary telling her when and where to meet him. They'd been meeting in the same place ever since.

Dwight leaned against a tree, smoking, her pace quickened when she saw him. He flicked the cigarette away just as she flung herself into him. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and she held fast to him. Lowering his head, he gently kissed her lips, clasping her chin between his thumb and forefinger. The moonlight, the smoke, the trees surrounding them providing a little circle of shelter, it was almost romantic if they were not prisoners of a crazy man's cult.

Pulling from their embrace Sherry wasted no time. "Did you find out anything about Angel? Negan made it sound like she's dead."

Dwight shook his head, ran a light hand over the side of her face, down her shoulder, traced her arm. "No. Simon wouldn't give any more information and you know I can't just ask Negan."

"Dwight, we gotta' get out of here. I can't do it anymore."

They'd talked about leaving often since Angel left. Before that too, just not as earnestly. Dwight still held on, in just the tiniest way, thinking that Negan's motives were not nefarious. He blamed himself for getting them into this predicament and it was hard for him to let go of what he thought The Sanctuary was supposed to be.

"I don't want to become one of Negan's wives." Maybe not too long ago she took it for the honor it was supposed to be. Angel's vacancy sped her up in the line and now the idea honestly frightened her. The thought of being with someone besides her husband disgusted her.

"I don't want that either," Dwight was quick to say. "Where can we go? We just dropped off the radar. Our families have no idea where we are. They'll be pissed if we show back up out of the blue expecting to be a part of their lives again."

"I think they'll be more happy to find out we're alive."

They didn't know they weren't allowed any contact with family or friends when they came to The Sanctuary. At first, Negan said it was important to be de-socialized. De-socializing meant they needed to be stripped of everything they learned from a society that was broken. Everyone that came to The Sanctuary needed to be retaught. If they asked to return home, even if only temporarily, or to make a phone call to loved ones back home, Negan would act offended. _Aren't we your family now_, he'd ask. _After all I've done for you._ Over time they learned to stop asking. It was foolish, Sherry saw that now.

"Baby, we gotta get out of her," she insisted. "They probably killed Angel."

"We don't know that."

Sherry, crossing her arms over her chest, simply stared him down.

. . .

Angel didn't know what to make of Daryl. He was tall and handsome in a rough kind of way. It didn't take her long to see there was much more to him than his tough exterior. He was obviously kind-hearted. He seemed to genuinely care about her as well as everyone in his life. From each person in the town to his partner to the lady that owned the bookstore. Once you were in his life, you were there forever.

A few nights ago he dragged a man in for being drunk. She was impressed by how he handled it. She recognized him as the man from the restaurant with long hair and a thick beard. She watched from her spot on the cot in the darkened back room as he led the wobbly man to the cell. Jesus seemed upset, not just drunk. Saying something about never getting his life together. Went on about how confused he was. Daryl comforted him in his quiet way. Reassuring him that he'd figure it out, reminding him he needed to quit trying to find the bottom of every bottle of alcohol he came across. And then in the morning, Daryl retrieved a bottle of water and a couple of aspirins for Jesus. Took him home without razing him about the night before like a lot of men might have.

He could also be as tough as his outer appearance suggested. She witnessed this first hand when Michonne arrested someone hopped up on something or another. The man thought he was ten feet tall and bulletproof, screaming and hollering. When he took a swing at Michonne Daryl was on him in half a second, easily knocking him on his ass. He wrestled the man into the cell before the guy even knew what had happened to him.

It was after that incident that Daryl told her about going to the women's center. He explained that they have more resources and it was all around a safer, better place for her to be. Funny thing was, he seemed as reluctant to let her go as she was _to_ go.

"It'll be better for ya'. You'll see," Daryl spoke words he wasn't capable of knowing for sure were true.

She leaned a hip against his desk, nodded, picked at a piece of skin on her cuticle. Disheartened, quiet tears escaped her eyes.

"Hey now," he said. His voice was heavy. Slowly, he took a step into her space. "Don't cry darlin'. It'll all work out. I'll keep in contact with you." He was determined not to abandon her. "Look at me, Angel."

When the tears didn't subside and she couldn't make herself look up at him, he gently traced the tears from her cheek with his knuckles. His touch, the gentleness of it, snatched the breath from her lungs.

The moment hung in the air, his touch remained on her skin. In her tattered memory, she couldn't recall being touched in this way. Negan's cold hands didn't count. A hug from Sherry or the occasional one armed squeeze from Dwight felt nothing like this brief encounter with Daryl.

Finally, her eyes rose to meet his. In their unspoken way, they leaned into one another. His arms went around her shoulders, surrounding her in his safe, strong embrace. She pressed her forehead against the solidity of his chest, breathing him in deeply. Daryl rested his chin atop her head, ran a hand down her soft, long hair.

No words were needed. If only for a moment, her murky past slid away and he was allowed to hold her. To _protect_ her. To pretend everything wasn't as fucked up as it was.

Then the radio crackled loudly and the moment dissipated like smoke from an extinguished candle. They reluctantly let each other go.

She did not want to leave Daryl or the safe haven the station had become. But what choice did she have? She couldn't live at the station until she finally remembered where she came from. Who knew when or even _if _that would happen. And she couldn't expect Daryl to take care of her for the unforeseeable future. She had been expecting they would send her somewhere. Her practical side told her she couldn't stay, the emotional side screamed to let her stay.

They'd been more than hospitable to her. This was the right thing to do. That didn't ease her nerves any and the night before she was set to leave she didn't sleep at all. She held back tears when she said her silent goodbye to Michonne. She was able to whisper thank you. The rest of the words she should have spoken got stuck in her throat again. She hoped her lame thank you and the hug she gave her was enough.

. . .

No, she didn't know what to make of Daryl. Even more so she didn't know what to make of what she felt for him. Though she couldn't voice it, leaving him was the last thing she wanted.

For years, she'd been living in a state of fear. It was a tiny uneasy feeling, she didn't really notice at first. As the feeling grew more and more as her time at The Sanctuary passed, she tried her best to ignore it. Soon a sense of impending doom was embedded so deep she felt it in her bones. It was as much a part of her body as the need for breath.

Over her time with Daryl, that fear lessened. Now the doom was back full force as they drove the forty-five minutes to the center.

. . .

Until he found a way to get himself and Sherry out, Dwight had to act his normal part in The Sanctuary. So here he was in Negan's cabin, bearing the brunt of yet another tantrum.

"God damn it all to hell, if you don't find her I'll be sure you pay for it! Do you hear me?" Negan yelled at Simon and Dwight. He sat at his desk, his body appeared calm in contrast to his voice rising with anger. He leaned back in his chair, one leg propped up on the desk.

_So, she was still alive?_ A tightness unwound in Dwight's chest. Admittedly he felt relief more so for Sherry than Angel. He liked Angel but Sherry and Angel had a bond. She never said as much, he knew Angel reminded Sherry of her little sister who died from complications due to diabetes a year before they came to The Sanctuary. Part of the reason why they came was to get away from the sadness she felt back home.

When Angel disappeared he was worried it might be more than Sherry could handle after losing her sister. Angel was there for her when Dwight couldn't be, which was a good majority of the time. Instead of breaking Sherry, it made her determined to get the hell out of this place.

Dwight stood a bit back, more towards the door. He'd seen firsthand what Negan's temper can do and he didn't want to be on the receiving end. Simon didn't even blink an eye. Simon was too much like Negan. Did whatever he asked. Agreed with whatever he said. Dwight worried he was no better. He did what he was told. Acted as he agreed with everything Negan said. He did agree with him for a long time, just like Sherry. Just like Angel. But just like Sherry and Angel, he started to question Negan as time went by and he became more unhinged. Looking back, Dwight wasn't even sure how he'd found himself in this situation as one of Negan's henchmen.

"I understand, Negan," Simon said. "I think we should expand our search area. Maybe go down to the nearby towns."

"Do you really think she woulda made it that far?" Negan spit out, as though it was the stupidest idea he'd ever heard. "She's just a woman."

"Ya' never know. And if she did make it that far, we can't risk it getting out that we are here," Simon told Negan, echoing his own words back to him. They walked a fine line of what was legal and what wasn't. As far as Dwight knew, the wives were all above eighteen, though the age seemed to drop with each new one.

Negan growled, punched a fist into his desk as he stood. "What the almighty fuck? I swear if that bitch made it that far…" He let the implication hang in the air.

"I'm sure she didn't," Dwight pacified.

"Oh, well then. As long as you're sure," Negan said, flourishing his hands in the air.

"I was just sayin'," Dwight tried to rectify. Dealing with Negan was like dealing with a ticking time bomb. You had to handle him gently, never knowing when he might go off.

"I don't give a hoot what you think. I don't care what you have to do. Just find her and bring her back to me!"

Before Dwight thought better of it, the words slipped out, "But you told everyone she was dead. How will you explain her reappearance?"

Negan slowly rounded his desk. Sweat beaded on Dwight's forehead. The fire roaring in the small fireplace made the space feel close with stale heat.

"Bring her back to me," Negan said through clenched teeth. "That's all you have to worry your pretty face about." He turned and walked back to his desk.

As though an afterthought, he faced Dwight again. "'Course now someone will have to take her place as my next wife. How is Sherry, Dwight? She's looking mighty fine. I think she just might be willing to take Angel's place."

Acid rose up Dwight's esophagus. He never wanted to punch someone so badly in his life. The only reason he didn't right then and there was because he'd be signing his own death certificate if he did.

There was a quiet knock on the door, breaking the tension between him and Negan. Negan gestured for Dwight to open it. When he did a young girl, one of the new recruits, waited on the other side. She wore a calf length wool coat. Underneath she wore a white dress that brushed the ground. The women were directed to wear white. It was a sign of their purity, of their devotion to Negan. She gave a shy smile to the room in general, stepping inside.

Just like that, Negan's whole demeanor changed. He went from tyrannical commander to, gentle charismatic leader. "Ahh, my princess. Come in."

The girl, Dwight didn't even recognize her, wasn't much more than that; a girl. She giggled and went to Negan. He wrapped an arm around her.

Dwight's stomach recoiled. He had no way of knowing it, but he had the same thought as Angel. The same thought as Sherry. As though he'd finally fully removed the rose colored glasses, he wondered how did he not see this before?

. . .

The woman that met them at the center was named Sasha. She was… efficient, Daryl decided. Efficient. Not cold. He could ignore the edge of anger she carried with her because she seemed capable, trustworthy. Efficient. She ran a tight ship, that much was apparent as she took him and Angel on a quick tour of the grounds and facility.

Sasha wore skinny blue jeans, a faded green cable knit sweater. Her hair was pulled back off her face. Though casual, she was all business. She obviously took her job seriously. That, Daryl respected.

Some rooms had two single beds, others had three. They were small for one bed, let alone more. No, Daryl reassured himself, they were fine. Clean. Serviceable. The rooms were tidy and each bed was made with a faded quilt. The floors were old but shined with recent mopping.

Two children ran past them in the hallway, giggling loudly, their shoes making a joyous thudding sound in the drab surroundings.

Sasha, her voice sounding a bit softer when directed towards the children, said, "Lizzie, Mika. Slow down, you want to run go outside. Okay?"

"Yes, Ms. Williams," the girls answered in unison and took off down the hallway only slightly slower.

The children surprised Daryl. "There are children staying here too?"

Sasha looked at him as if to say _Duh_. "Well, women and children are usually a package deal, wouldn't you say, Sheriff? We try to accommodate any woman in need. Children, no children. Older. Younger. Doesn't matter to us. We meet them where they're at."

Daryl nodded. _Duh_, indeed. "'Bout how many residents are here now?"

"Currently, twelve children and twenty-four women. Twenty-five is our limit," she said, looking pointedly at Angel.

The facility wasn't huge. The building itself was an older two-story with a brick exterior. It had been an office for different businesses, then it had been converted into what it is today. It seemed much too small for that many people in Daryl's opinion. He knew how it went, though. Low funding, lack of staff, etcetera. It was probably a struggle just to keep their doors open. It was commendable what Sasha was doing. The stress no doubt contributed to her cool demeanor.

He snuck a look at Angel, seeing if she reacted to the children playing. She stood next to Daryl, swaying slightly back and forth. Her arms tightly crossed over her chest. Whether she saw the children or heard Sasha as she went through the rules was anyone's guess.

"No drugs, no alcohol. No fraternizing with the staff and/or other residents. Lights out by eleven. Breakfast at seven. Everyone is expected to pitch in," Sasha said, pointing to a large whiteboard in the main hall. Different names were assigned different jobs from cleaning the bathrooms to cafeteria duty.

Once they were seated in what Daryl assumed was her office, Sasha looked over the paperwork he had filled out for Angel. He did it to the best of his ability but he only knew so much. Angel seemed to know even less.

"There is an assortment of group as well as individual therapies. On and off grounds. We provide transportation, of course. Once you're here a little bit longer, Angel, we'll tailor your therapy to your needs. It says you might have some sort of selective amnesia?" Shasha asked.

Daryl bristled. He hadn't said it outright in front of Angel and he didn't like it that Shasha had. He wasn't exactly sure why, it just seemed wrong_, _like he was _assuming_ something he didn't know for sure. Plus, they had yet to get a formal diagnosis. Their town wasn't chock full with psychologists. He supposed he wouldn't need that psychologist in Atlanta to call him back now.

"We don't know that for sure," he looked over at Angel, unsure how to go about this. "Angel isn't talking much." His heart ached, physically ached for her. She looked so small in the plastic chair in the corner. She pulled her legs up to her chest, heels resting on the edge of the seat. Resting her chin on her knees, she played nervously with the laces of her shoes.

She really hadn't said much since she read to him. She didn't say anything more about Dwight, Sherry, or the babies and he hadn't prodded her. Unsurprisingly, she didn't say anything about coming here.

Sasha skeptically cocked her head. "Selective amnesia and mutism. Interesting. Is that right, Angel? You aren't talking much?" Sasha asked her attention on Angel. Angel didn't look up, just shook her head in the negative.

"And why is that? Why don't you want to talk?" Shasha bluntly asked.

Angel ignored the question. Sasha continued to stare, waiting as though she were a contrary child not wanting to eat her dinner. Some people, Daryl knew, responded well to being pushed, Angel was not one of them.

"Cause she ain't ready yet," Daryl said with more indignation than he meant to. Quickly trying to recover, he said, "I jus' mean, she's said a few things. I think she'll talk when she's ready." He didn't like this, he didn't like it at all. Talking about her like she wasn't even there.

After a moment's standoff, Sasha sighed. "Well, we'll figure it all out Sherriff," she said wearily.

"How many of your residents have convictions? How many are here because they are on probation?" Daryl questioned, surprising Sasha. Her right eyebrow arching to a point.

"A few. Most are escaping bad situations. Ultimately, they all need a helping hand and we are trying to offer them that."

After a moment of gapping awkward silence, Shasha stood. Daryl stood too. Angel peered up at him out the tops of her fearful blue eyes.

"If that's all the questions you have…" she waited a moment and when he said nothing, she went on. "We'll get Angel settled in," Sasha told him, bringing his attention away from Angel.

Just like that?

This was for the best. It had to be better than living at the station. Right? He reminded himself, here she would get the help she needed.

_You can't save everyone_.

Sasha offered her hand and he took it shaking it slowly. He cleared his throat of the uncomfortable emotion lodged there before he said his goodbye to Angel. He felt he was losing her when she wasn't even his to lose.

* * *

**Hmmm...I really didn't mean for Dwight and Sherry to have such a big part in this. lol Or Negan. I really wanted to focus on Daryl and Beth. Hope it's okay that it's not turning out like that.**

**Thanks so much for reading and commenting. :)**


	10. And After

"I still see her too, it's perfectly normal," Annette comforted her oldest daughter.

"I'm so sorry, Mama. Sometimes it just hits me," Maggie sniffled, wiping her nose with a crinkled tissue she found in the bottom of her purse. "It's dumb."

"It is most certainly not dumb," Annette said sharply. "It is not dumb. She'll always be your sister. It just shows how much you love her."

"It's been years. _Years._ And I see some random blonde girl at the mall and I almost go up to her to say hi. As though she hasn't been missing all this time. It's like I forgot or something. I had my hand out to touch her shoulder to get her attention when I remembered she's gone."

Annette's heart broke for her daughter. Over and over again it broke for Maggie. For Shawn. For Hershel. For herself. "Oh, Maggie. I've done that exact same thing."

"You have? Still, after all this time?"

Annette nodded. "After all this time. We just want so badly for her to be here with us our minds tricks us."

"Ugh," Maggie sighed. "I'm just so tired. Hershel hasn't been sleeping well since we got back from vacation and the mall was insane. Serves me right going on a Saturday with two little kids in tow during the holidays."

"Amazon is a lifesaver," Annette joked. It took her a while to jump on the Amazon bandwagon but once she had, she sang its praises every chance she got.

Maggie laughed and leaned into her mother. They sat on the sofa in the farmhouses living room. The children, 3-year-old Hershel, and 1-year-old Anna-Beth played quietly on the floor.

"It's good to be home. I don't think Atlanta will ever feel like home to me."

"Well, you could always move back," Annette suggested innocently, giving Maggie a quick wink.

"I sometimes feel like a fish out of water. I'm just a farm girl. I don't belong in a big city."

"Oh, hush now. You belong anywhere you want to be. You've made friends, that house of yours is beautiful. You're adjusting. Don't pack it in just yet. Thinking you saw Beth doesn't help anything."

The farm was only an hour trip south and after the episode at the mall, Maggie drove straight there. Glenn was working trying to get caught up and they had all day before needing to be back home. A visit with her parents was just what she needed.

Sometimes you needed your mother to fuss over you and that's something Annette did well. Before she knew it, they had lunch. And not just the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that Maggie would have made if they were at home in Atlanta. No, Annette whipped up leftover fried chicken, mashed potatoes and roasted veggies on the side. Then little Hershel was scooped up by Daddy and Shawn and taken outside to see what they could get into out there and Anna was being rocked to sleep for her nap by Annette.

Maggie sank into the comfy couch feeling better as one does after a good cry. She loved being home. She didn't realize how much until she moved away. Leaving was one of the hardest things she ever had to do. Maggie met Glenn soon after Beth left, they got married six short months after that and Maggie moved to Atlanta to be with Glenn anxious to start their life together.

If moving away was one of the hardest things she had to go through, Beth's disappearance was _the_ hardest.

She'd been the one to find the note that Beth supposedly left. She didn't understand what she was reading at first. Thinking it was a joke, she gave it to Annette, asking _What has she gone and done now?_

Beth had been carefree and full of life when she was a child. Always running around the farm barefoot with scraped knees. Her late teens proved to be more difficult. Even though she managed to graduate high school on the dean's list, the last year of school and the time just after graduation she became downtrodden and anxious. To top it off, the boyfriend that she had through the majority of her high school years dumped her. She took it especially hard.

After the breakup, Beth was devastated, requiring Annette or Maggie or Hershel, even Shawn's aid around the clock. She wouldn't sleep. Wouldn't eat. All she did was cry.

One day shortly after the breakup, Maggie thought Beth was finally resting after crying much of the day. She tip-toed out of her bedroom where she had been standing vigil, trying her best to comfort her baby sister, and went down the stairs to the kitchen. She had just made a cup of tea when she heard an ear-piercing shattering come from upstairs.

By the time she got to Beth's bathroom, Beth had slit her wrist with a shard of the broken mirror she had busted with a swift punch. Luckily, it wasn't deep and Maggie prevented her from doing any further damage.

No one but Glenn knew Maggie still had nightmares about that day. Nightmares where she hadn't made it to Beth in time and she bled to death on the bathroom floor.

Bringing Beth back from that dark period of her life took some time. She began taking medication that she hated taking, went to counseling and with the love and support of her family and friends, as well as hard work on Beth's part, eventually, she started doing better. She seemed happy. She was going to college. Working part-time. She said she had met someone new, refusing to say who. They had no way of knowing if this new person was behind her disappearance. No one in her group of friends or coworkers knew who he was either. No one knew anything.

Then one day she was just gone, leaving that note behind her. Maggie didn't take it all that seriously. Once Annette read it and after a few unanswered calls to Beth's cell, which ended up being in her bedroom, the day turned into night and they still hadn't heard from Beth, the gravity of the situation sunk in.

Maggie's life was cut into two time periods. Before Beth disappeared. And after.

. . .

Sasha sat back down once Daryl left. Tears streamed down Angel's face and she didn't bother to wipe them away. She doubted she had the energy to do so. She wanted to back at the station with Daryl and Michonne. She wanted to close her eyes and sleep for days.

"Don't worry, Angel, it'll get easier. The first few days are always the hardest," Sasha said, writing something in her file. "We'll need to find out exactly which therapies will be best suited to you since you aren't talking…" Sasha paused, waiting to see if she'd speak. When she didn't she went on, "There's group therapy in the mornings for the age bracket of late teens to early twenties. I think that would be a good place to start. Then I'll try to get you in with our resident psychiatrist, he can do an evaluation."

At this point, Sasha may as well have been talking to herself. Angel stopped listening. She has no say in what happens to her, even if she did talk. Just as it was at The Sanctuary, she had to do what she was told, do what was expected of her.

For the first time, maybe her "selective mutism", as they called it, would come in handy because she didn't want to talk to Sasha or anyone else at this place.

Her short time with Daryl allowed her to have the tiniest bit of freedom. She slept when she wanted. She read. She ate or didn't eat. They didn't force her to speak. There wasn't any judgment. She was free to be who she was though she had no idea who that person was.

. . .

_This was the right decision_, Daryl told himself once again. What happened to the headstrong, confident man he used to be just a short time ago? A girl walks into his life and suddenly everything's different? _Soldier up, Dixon! _It was for the better. They'd help her. Get her therapy. If that were all true, then why did he have such a heavy feeling in his chest?

Once back at his truck, he wasn't quite ready to leave yet. Wasn't ready to leave Angel yet. He rolled down the window and took a cigarette from his front pocket. Lighting it, he inhaled the smoke deeply, leaning his head against the headrest, he closed his eyes. The image of Angel's sad face was burned into the back of his eyelids. Holding the smoke deep in his lungs, he felt it burn as some kind of self imposed torture for not helping Angel enough, for just dumping her at this place. Opening his eyes, he peered at the old building again.

_It's the right thing. It's the right thing. It's the right thing. _He repeated over and over again to himself.

Fuck it, he didn't care. His gut was screaming that this _wasn't_ right and that he needed to keep Angel close by for her safety as well as this strange pull he had towards her. His gut had yet to fail him.

Flicking the cigarette out the window, he shoved the door open he stomped back to the building.

. . .

When Angel tuned back into Sasha, she was saying, "Why don't I show you to your room?"

As Angel followed Sasha, her tears thankfully abated. She didn't want to humiliate herself any more than she already had by crying when Daryl left. They walked down the corridor, up a flight of stairs, down another hallway, stopping at a room that looked like all the others.

A rough looking woman sat on the bed opposite the door scribbling into a plain black journal. From where she stood, Angel couldn't make out any words, leaving her to wonder if she was actually writing, or was she literally scribbling. The woman had no hair, both eyes were bruised. She stared at Sasha, then her attention went to Angel.

"Alpha, you have a new roommate. This is Angel. She's on the shy side, so I don't think she'll be talking much."

Alpha rolled her flat eyes, void of anything but disdain. "Last girl talked too damn much. Between her and Lydia, I 'bout pulled my ears off."

"Yes, you told me. Over and over again," Sasha said to Alpha, then to Angel she said, "Alpha has a daughter, Lydia. She's on kitchen duty now, she'll be back in a while. Maybe, Alpha, you can suggest Lydia show Angel around a bit more?"

Alpha rolled a shoulder, continued to scribble.

"Don't worry Angel, Alpha is all bark but no bite. Ain't that right?" Shasha asked Alpha.

A chilling sneer played on Alpha's lips so quick and fleeting if you weren't paying attention you'd miss it. Angel was, in fact, paying close attention. A chill ran down her spine so strong she shook with the power of it.

No. There was no way she was staying here. Not in this place, not in this room, not with that woman. Angel didn't care if she had to sleep on the street that night, there was no way she was staying here.

Quietly, while Sasha talked at, not to, Alpha, who wasn't listening anyway, she slid behind her. Then one foot behind the other, she slipped down the hallway unnoticed. Once at the stairway, she ran for it.

By the time she made it to ground level, Sasha could be heard running behind her. "Angel! Get back here. Where do you think you're going?"

Angel didn't slow down until she made it to the entrance. She pulled the door twice before she realized it was a push release and by then Sasha had caught up to her, grabbing her by the backpack that held her few belongings.

Angel screamed, "No!"

"Sure, now you can talk," Sasha said through clenched teeth, out of breath. She dragged her back into the main hallway by her bag.

Being pulled away from freedom made her go weak. Her knees gave out and she fell weakly to the floor. Would her life ever belong to her again?

"What the hell is going on here?" A voice bellowed out, echoing in the entrance of the old building, bouncing off the brick walls and tile flooring.

Angel was almost afraid to look up. Clearly, the words couldn't belong to the man she hoped they belong to and if she looked up and saw it wasn't Daryl (because how could it be) it'd be more than she had the strength to deal with.

A hand gently took her elbow, wrapped an arm around her waist and gingerly helped to her feet. Then and only then did she look at who was helping her.

It was Daryl.

. . .

"I'm sorry ta' drag you through that. It just felt wrong leaving you there. I'm sorry," he said, his voice quiet. Almost defeated.

He looked over at Angel where she sat in the passenger seat of the Bronco as they drove back to town. She enthusiastically nodded her head. She had more color to her cheeks than he'd seen her have up to that point, her eyes sparkled with alleviation.

Once they left, leaving an extremely angry Sasha behind, they practically ran out to the Bronco, loaded up and left a burnout trail behind them. Daryl was quiet on the drive back to town. He almost left her there. What the hell made him think that was the best situation for her? Hell, it might very well have been the best situation, he was no expert. But leaving her… it just felt _so_ wrong. The ride back, while quiet, felt right and the closer they got the town, the easier it was to breathe.

"I know it's not ideal," Daryl finally broke his silence as they rolled back into town. "But you can stay at my place. It's not the Ramada or anything, it's better than the station. Better than that place."

When she didn't object, he wasn't surprised she didn't, he went on. "Michonne's got a boyfriend. I'm pretty sure he's living there 'n I don't think he'd appreciate a house guest, not with that stick up his ass anyway. And you can't keep staying at the station. So that leaves my place until we can find something more permanent," he explained.

He slowed for a traffic light, focused on Angel. "If you're comfortable with it, that is. If not we can figure something else out." He had no idea what that something else would be, he'd find a way to make it work. She wasn't staying at the women's center. No way.

She smiled at him, eyes soft.

Instead of going to the station, he went through town, slowing at a small single story house. "It's a worn down. The town owns it and to be honest I haven't cared enough to fix it up or anything."

Looking at it through new eyes, he saw just how worn down it had gotten over the few years he'd lived there. The paint was peeling, one of the faded green shutters remained attached by one nail affixed to the bottom, it dangled back and forth in the breeze. The front steps were rickety looking like they might collapse at any moment. Weeds sprouted through the cracks of the concrete path. He walked that path a thousand times, probably more, never noticing the cracks or the weeds until today.

_Relax, Dixon. It ain't like you're bringing your bride home_, he lectured and forced himself to open the door, letting himself out of the Bronco. Angel waited for him at the hood of the truck.

"I'm really sorry for the condition of this place."

Angel nodded her head once as if to say it was no big deal.

The door stuck and he had to give it a hard shoulder to get it to budge. He smiled sheepishly, "Sometimes you gotta' force it."

This time Angel giggled quietly. The sound made the guilt that weighed heavily on his chest lighten just a tiny bit.

Inside was worse. The paneling was more black than brown due to years of cigarette smoke. The couch, while comfortable, dipped in the middle. A tv tray doubled as an end table. There was no coffee table, just an empty space in the middle of the living area. The carpet was faded and possibly had been blue at one time. Now it was just dark. Was 'dark' a color?

A whiff of stale cigarette smoke and old pizza wafted through the air.

"I don't spend a whole lotta' time here," he said, trying to excuse away the condition of the house.

He walked back to the kitchen with Angel behind him, hopefully not taking in her new surroundings too closely. "So uh, obviously this is the kitchen." He opened the fridge. It was empty save for a single can of coke, a paper plate with a piece of pizza on it and a carton of eggs. "We'll go food shopping tonight after I get back from work."

Leaving the kitchen he made a right to a small hallway. "Bathroom on the right, bedroom on the left. There is only one bathroom," he spoke apologetically.

Angel watched from the doorway. "You can have the bed. I don't sleep well anyway. I'll just crash at the station or the couch."

He went to the small dresser, retrieved a faded blue sheet, began stripping the bed. "Sorry for…" he began to apologize again.

Angel grasped his wrist mid-air, turned him to face her. He didn't know at what point she entered the bedroom, she was suddenly there, standing close. She took the sheet from him and tossed it on the bed behind him.

"Stop apologizing," she said in her quiet voice.

He nodded, sat on the bed, suddenly exhausted. "I jus' feel like shit leaving you there. After everything you been through you deserve better than that."

She released his wrist and tentatively slid her fingers into his cupped hand resting on his knee. She whispered, "It's okay. Really, it is." She stood in front of him but was soon standing in between his knees. Her eyes were large, opulently blue. Kind.

"I don't want to fail you." He fucked up so many times in his life he couldn't fuck this up too. Her life was already, unexpectedly, a part of his. She was already too important in a way he didn't understand.

"You're not going to fail me." She said it as though the idea didn't even cross her mind. A smile parted her lips. He noted they were no longer chapped. They were smooth, bubble gum pink. Is that what they'd taste like? Bubble gum?

He rested a hand on her hip, his fingers curled inward pulling her closer to him. In return, she placed her free hand on his shoulder, squeezing, the warmth of her palm absorbed through his shirt, into his skin. Leaning in, he rested his forehead on her middle. When she ran a hand through his shaggy hair, his eyes closed, his back teeth clenched.

The moment held. It dragged on but not in a bad way. The air stilled. Outside sounds, birds chirping, wind rustling the branches against the outside wall subsided.

Then he snapped back to his senses, the world coming back to them once again. _What the fuck?_

He quickly stood, sidestepped Angel. Clearing his throat he grabbed the sheet once again.

"Couple things though. There's this psychologist," he began to explain as he striping the old sheet from the bed. "Dr. Tara recommended him. Anyways, I put in a call to him, emailed him your information. He should be getting back to me anytime now. I think it's a good idea for you to see him."

She stood on the opposite side of the bed. Uncertainty came back in her eyes as she nodded her agreement. He had a feeling she was only agreeing because she didn't want to risk being sent back to the center.

"Listen, I'll talk with the Doc first, get a feel for him. If I don't like him, we won't go see him. That sound good?"

. . .

Staying at Daryl's house was not what someone might call typical. And to be honest Beth felt strange about it. Then again, this whole situation was strange. The house was small as Daryl had warned, one bedroom, one bed. It wasn't as worn down as he said. It was just a normal house on the outskirts of town. It was, by far, better than the shack she stayed in at The Sanctuary.

She quietly followed him through the house as he showed her around the house. Showed her what was in the fridge. Told her to help herself to anything, what little there was, and they could go grocery shopping later and get whatever she wanted.

Angel felt uncomfortable once again. She didn't want to mooch off of him. Yet he was already giving her a place to stay, buying her food, and she'd only been back in his life an hour. When he began to fuss with clean sheets for the bed she had to stop him and his apologizing.

Every time he said he was sorry it was another pinprick of fault he placed on himself when it rightfully should be placed on her.

She didn't think before she reached out and took his wrist. Took the sheet from him and tossed it aside. She only wanted his full attention and she wasn't sure if her voice would fail her this time or not. Grasping his wrist seemed to do the trick as he faced her and froze. When she told him to stop apologizing he sank to the bed.

"It's okay. Really, it is," she told him.

Then there was a moment where it was just him and her and no one else. Not his past. Not his imagined inability to help her. Not her inability to remember. Not The Sanctuary. Definitely not Negan. His vulnerability as he laid his head against her stomach was something she knew with all her being she'd never experienced before. He was broken too, but he personified strength. In that moment he allowed her a glimpse of that brokenness.

Just as quickly as the moment came it passed and Daryl was back to the sheet. It left her heart beating a little fast. Her face flushed. The phantom weight of his hand stayed on her hip.

He started rambling on about a doctor he wanted her to see. She wasn't excited about it, but she'd do it. For him. The way he practically jumped away from her and began talking about a safe subject was endearing. She couldn't figure out why she would make him nervous though.

She watched as he remade the bed with the clean sheet. Staying in his house was one thing. Kicking him out of his own bed was another.

She shook her head no, followed by the word. Her voice was scratchy but the words seemed to be coming easier.

"No, what?" He asked.

"I'll sleep on the couch," she answered"

It was the most she'd said since she met him, baring the night of the nightmare. That didn't really count, did it? She was upset that night. Wasn't thinking clearly. She felt more clear right now than she had since coming to town. Felt safer. Or just relieved she didn't have to stay at the center. It was probably a compilation of all of it.

"I can't take your bed too." Her voice was soft, even to her own ears.

"It's fine. I don't sleep well anyway. You need your own space."

She shook her head again, going to him she took the quilt from him before he had a chance to throw it on top of the newly made bed. He didn't let it go. A crooked smile smirked on his lips.

"My mama wasn't a perfect mother by any stretch of the imagination. Still...she'd kill me if she knew I made you sleep on the couch."

* * *

**Sorry for the delay! Hope you like it! Thank you for reading, leaving a comment if you'd like. **


	11. Penance

Rosita noticed the two men that walked into the diner and shuffled into a back booth right away. Not because of their looks. But because she knew everyone in town and rightly knew she'd never seen these two before. As she walked up to their booth, the older man with a handlebar mustache leered at her. It used to make her uncomfortable, now it bounced between pissing her off and just not caring. If they found her attractive they were more likely to leave a decent tip. Right or wrong, that's the way the world of waitressing went.

Today she was too tired to was on the second half of a double shift and her feet were hurting. The man with scraggly blonde hair tried to hide the terrible bumpy scar on the further side of his face with his hair and a hat pulled down low. Rosita felt bad for him, not for the fact he had the scar to begin with but that he felt the need to hide it.

"What can get ya'?" She addressed the blonde man. He ordered a hamburger with a side of fries and Root Beer without looking at her.

Reluctantly she asked the other man the same thing. He had no problem looking at her. Languished in it. Took his time enjoying the view before ordering the same thing as his friend.

"Y'all visiting family?" Rosita asked the blonde man, uncomfortable under mustachio's scrutiny. Sure, today of all days she had to wear her super tight skinny jeans and crop top.

"Na'," Mustachio man answered for the blonde man. A toothpick stuck out the corner of his mouth giving him an even more creepy vibe. "No, we aren't, but we are looking for someone."

"Oh yeah?" Rosita asked.

"Seen anyone new in the area?" The blonde man finally spoke up. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't creepy. It was strange the way he wouldn't really look at her. Scar or no scar she found it impolite. "A blonde girl?"

"Where you guys from?" She asked instead of answering.

"Not from around here," the blonde man answered.

_Rude, much_? Rosita thought to herself before saying, "Well, then I'll go put your order in." Bypassing their question completely, she turned on her heel. As she walked back to the counter, feeling the dark-haired man's eyes on her ass the whole way.

. . .

Angel had done her fair share of cooking at The Sanctuary. It was usually the same meals over and over again. She didn't ever stroll through the aisles of such a large store picking and choosing what sounded good or what was needed. What they couldn't grow themselves was brought in by people (those Negan had designated as the most trustful) assigned to make trips to the nearby towns once every few months.

Mostly she let Daryl take the lead at the store. He encouraged her to get whatever she wanted. She was at a loss, not remembering what she used to like in her life before The Sanctuary. It was aggravating, to say the least. Other than the few things they had at The Sanctuary she couldn't say what food she liked or disliked.

Daryl must have picked up on her hesitancy because he occasionally asked her about one item or another or just got random things for her to try.

"Do you like peanut butter? I mostly stick to sandwiches when I'm home long enough to eat."

She rolled a shoulder. She somehow knew what it tasted like, but couldn't remember whether she liked it or not.

An aisle or two over, he casually asked while examining a jar of sauce, "What did you eat at the place you were before?"

She hesitated. Speaking to Daryl was becoming easier and easier, she still wanted to be careful of what she said. If she let it slip where she was and just went on there, he'd no doubt go up there with a whole herd of police officials.

Standing where she was now, in a whole other world so it seemed, it was easy to wonder how could they possibly be happy there at The Sanctuary. The kicker was most of the Saviors _were_ happy as far as she knew. If they were ripped from that life, for some of them it was the only life they knew, well... that didn't seem right either.

When she first arrived at The Sanctuary, it only consisted of about twenty people. There were children born there before she got there. And children born after she came. There were young teenagers too, they were too young to remember what their life was before. It was all they knew. They did seem happy. The children ran and played. Laughed and joked. Just because they lived differently than the average person didn't mean it was wrong. Did it?

Angel's stomach dipped. She felt so conflicted. It wasn't a hidden paradise up on that mountain. Those girls that Negan preyed upon were _not_ safe. Even she didn't feel as though she had a choice in becoming Negan's next wife and she was legally an adult.

Daryl looked at her expectantly and she remembered he had asked her a question.

"We ate oatmeal a lot," she said, pushing the cart already half loaded with food.

Daryl wrinkled his nose. "Oatmeal? That don't sound good."

Angel chuckled. "It really wasn't." No added sugar or brown sugar. No raisins. A little maple syrup that they made themselves.

"We'll steer clear of oatmeal for a while, alright?"

She smiled and nodded and he sent her a little wink before placing the sauce back on the shelf. The wink sent a flash of heat through her body. It was silly. Just a wink, a friendly gesture. Nothing more.

"What about frozen pizza? Hey, or, we can make our own." His face brightened at the suggestion.

Pizza? Angel's mouth began to water. She asked, "Make our own?"

"Yeah, I haven't done that since I was a kid," he walked past the spaghetti sauce and found the pizza sauce instead.

Watching Daryl pick out all the ingredients, she realized she had no idea how to make her own pizza. It definitely wasn't on the menu at The Sanctuary. Before then she, of course, drew a blank.

. . .

"I think we got enough to feed an army," Daryl said as they stood in the small kitchen surrounded by plastic grocery bags. "Actually, scratch that. I was in the Army. You were always starving because of the amount of physical work they made you do."

That caught Angel's attention. He must have noticed as he went on. "Yeah. I was in the Army for years before I hightailed it back here."

"Why'd you come back?" She questioned, unpacking the groceries and handing them to him so he could put them away. She didn't know where anything went in his house.

"I got burned out, I guess. Being constantly shot at loses its appeal after a while. When I joined I was eighteen. Young 'n stupid. It was all an adventure, right? And a hella' lot better than this place. Or so I thought."

Angel stood in the center of the kitchen, a loaf of bread in her outstretched hand. Intent on listening.

"After a while though… it wasn't me being shot at that bothered me so much. It was the innocent people being shot at that was harder to deal with."

"What happened? What made you come back here?" She asked before she thought better of it. Seeing another chink in the armor of Daryl Dixon intrigued her. She wanted to know him better, this side especially.

He busied himself putting away the groceries as he talked. "Lots of stuff. Lost a lot of friends. The hell of it was, I didn't even understand why we were there. I guess the tipping point for me was this one day we were clearing a hot area, looking for the bad guys that always seemed to be ten steps ahead of us," he used air quotes around the words 'bad guys'.

"The air was thick. Could almost see the tension. Anyway, I turned a corner and there's this little girl. No older than three, just standing there. Too scared to move, or cry or scream. I ran to her, swept her up just as sniper fire ran a bullet through my shoulder. I ran like hell. I didn't even realize I been hit till we reached safety. Clean shot right through. In and out," he said pointing to his shoulder.

"You saved her?"

Momentarily lost in thought, he eventually answered, "The little girl? Yeah. She was reunited with her parents. She was lucky, most of the time they ain't reunited."

"You saved her," she said. This time it wasn't a question. Tears stung her eyes. He saved her too, just in a different way.

He pushed her words off with a shrug. "They treated me like a fucking hero."

"You are," she said without a doubt.

He made a grunt of a noise deep in his chest. "I ain't no hero. I just did what I was taught to do. After that, I went downhill. Drank too much. Used the bullet wound as an excuse to use too many pain meds. I eventually got it together, came back here."

Angel swallowed her tears standing there at the counter next to Daryl as he told her something so deeply personal. She wasn't sure why he told her, she was glad he did. It was frustrating for her that she couldn't tell him more.

"Hey," he elbowed her lightly in the side. "You okay?"

To hide her emotions she quickly nodded her head and began reading the pizza dough recipe he had brought up on his phone.

. . .

Daryl quickly changed the subject until they were elbow deep in pizza dough, flour covering every inch of the tiny kitchen. Angel found herself actually having a good time. Her worries weren't erased, only slightly eased and pushed to the back burner for a short time.

Daryl fumbled through the recipe and it was obvious he'd never done this before. For her, something about it was familiar. Something about the soft, squishy texture of the dough. The silkiness of the flour, how it floated in the sun rays that shone through the slats of the blinds in the small kitchen window above the sink. Her laughter came easily when Daryl had a bit of flour on the top of his nose. When she wiped it off for him she made more of a mess on his face.

"I think I made it worse," she laughed.

She caught him watching her more than once. With the last man she caught watching her, Negan, it had left her decidedly unsettled. Daryl watching her, though, filled her with a warmth that fluttered in her belly and branched out to her tingling fingertips. Silly, she admonished. It was his job to watch her. Still, it made her feel like a girl with a crush.

She was sure the temperature increase was due to the oven being on and nothing to do with their close contact or the way he watched her or that fluttery feeling it gave her.

. . .

Making the pizza together was two-fold. He wanted her to eat a good dinner, something that might stick with her longer than a peanut butter sandwich. And second, he liked the idea of being with her. Doing something constructive. Getting her to talk about anything. About her past or about the pizza. He didn't care, he just wanted to hear her voice.

He lied when he said he did this as a kid. Growing up they ate whatever they could find in the mostly bare refrigerator and cupboards. Even after they moved from the mountain and into town, their kitchen was mostly empty. Not for lack of trying. His mother did try to keep food in the house/trailer/apartment or whatever shitbox they were living in at any given time. Money was tight and there were other bills to pay.

When he was old enough to work, legally anyway, he ate whatever he picked up at the quick stop. He practically grew up on Doritos and Mountain Dew, and cigarettes from about the age of fourteen. So, no they never made pizza when he was a boy. Especially together as a family.

He and Angel worked surprisingly well considering she didn't say much. It wasn't lost on him there was a connection between them. He just didn't understand what that connection was. It wasn't that she was the most beautiful woman he'd seen, even though she was. It wasn't that she needed his help and he was genuinely curious about her story. There was something more and it simultaneously intrigued and scared the hell out of him. And earlier when they shared that moment while he was changing the sheets, what the hell had that been about? Suddenly overcome with _emotion_? That wasn't like him at all. It wasn't that he didn't feel anything, he was always sure to keep his emotions in check.

He watched as she took small tentative of bites from her slice of pizza, which was quite tasty if he did say so himself. They sat on the old couch, he at one end and she at the other. The only noise was the occasional shuffle and the television turned quietly to the news. He doubted she had a TV where she last was and she didn't pay any attention to this one. Curiosity about where she'd been and what's in that mind of hers was beginning to eat at him.

"So, ya' didn't have pizza much where you were at?" He asked, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin.

She must have been full but continued to pick at the crust that was left on her plate. She shook her head no, smiled slightly.

"Just oatmeal?"

She nodded.

"What about Dwight and Sherry? They like oatmeal?" He asked casually joked, placing his plate on the cushion between them. He was trying his best to make conversation. Judging by her willingness to talk more, she was beginning to feel comfortable with him. He wanted to keep that going in the right direction.

She didn't answer.

"Who are Dwight and Sherry? They your family? They were with you before, right?"

Her head snapped to attention, looking as though he slapped her.

"I just thought…I mean I'm just curious is all. More than curious actually, it can help in the investigation."

Tears once again stung her eyes. She seemed incapable of talking about where she'd been without crying. She said nothing. Standing, she took her plate and his into the kitchen and from the sounds of it, she began cleaning up the mess they made from making pizza.

. . .

Their first evening didn't go as planned. Not that he had a plan. Angering her, if that is what he actually did, wasn't planned. Angel was more than her usual quiet self after he asked her about Dwight and Sherry. She didn't outright say it, saying anything wasn't her way. He should have known better. Should have let her come to him when she was ready.

Shortly after cleaning up the kitchen, a job she did mostly on her own though he did try to help, she said a quiet "good-night" before disappeared into the bedroom, _his_ bedroom that he insisted she take.

He'd apologize but was worried he'd sound redundant. He already apologized in her presence more than he had in his entire life. Additionally, he had no idea what he'd be apologizing for. For bringing up Dwight and Sherry? For trying to get her to talk about where she had been? She seemed to grasp that he was trying to help her. It was obvious he needed to know more in order to do so and time was speedily passing them by.

He left a note for her saying he'd be back at lunchtime to check on her and to help herself to the leftover pizza in the fridge and slipped out of the house early in the morning, making sure the doors and windows were locked, something he'd never done before.

Regardless of how their first evening went, having Angel back with him, even if they were never really apart, made his mind shift into overdrive.

He still knew essentially nothing about her. Just that she knew someone named Dwight and someone named Sherry. Daryl got the impression Sherry and Dwight were together, as in a couple. If there was a connection between the two, maybe that was enough to go on.

Going to the search engine on his laptop he randomly searched for Sherry and Dwight. The search brought back many Facebook profiles, white page listings and so on. He perused them but without their last name, it was a stab in the dark. Then at the top of the second search page, there was a wedding registry from four years ago belonging to a Sherry Evangelista and Dwight Ameillo.

His stab in the dark hit something. He took the last swig of coffee that was about as thick as molasses and clicked on the link to Target's bridal registry.

. . .

"You're in early," Michonne said when she got to the station. She went straight to the coffee maker, poured herself a cup before going to her desk.

Daryl nodded, looking over his notes. Nervously pressing the end of the pen he held making a clicking noise over and over again, wishing it wasn't illegal to smoke inside of buildings.

"Whatcha working on?" She questioned, trying to read his writing. A feat in and of itself because it was pretty much chicken scratch.

"Just lookin' up something for," he hesitated before going on. "For Angel."

"That's nice of you, but shouldn't you leave that up to the people at the center?"

Daryl sheepishly looked up from the paper. He didn't need to say anything. Michonne read him too well.

"Daryl," she said in a motherly tone. He'd tease her about it normally. Today, though, he didn't need any more women mad at him than already were. One was enough.

"The center wasn't a good fit," he began to explain.

"A good fit for who? Her or you?"

He went through what had happened and how Sasha, while capable, was obviously suffering from a severe case of burnout. The building was all but falling down and the interior wasn't in the best of conditions. They were definitely overcrowded and understaffed.

Michonne listened and when he was finished with what he had to say she waited a moment. Gathered her thoughts. "You are not responsible for Angel."

Daryl leaned back in his chair, tossing the pen onto his desk. "How am I not responsible for her? I found her. I'm the sheriff. That pretty much makes me responsible for her."

She studied him thoroughly over the next thirty seconds. That's all it took. That's how well she knew him. Eyebrows drawn, chin down. Just the tiniest bit of humor showing on her face.

"What?" He asked. Judging by the look on her face, he probably really didn't want to know.

"Jesus, Daryl. There are at least five women I can name off the top of my head that are interested in you. Connie being top of that list. They'd practically climb over each other to get to you. But nooooo, you gotta go for the amnesiac girl that doesn't talk."

"Hey, she talks to me," Daryl argued weakly. "'Sides I have no idea what you're talkin' 'bout." He stood, taking his cup to the coffee maker, mumbling as he did. "Five women? Uh-huh, sure. And Connie is just a friend."

He felt his face flush as he sat back down and busied himself on his laptop, hoping she would let the conversation drop. He had no idea what she was talking about anyway. He was only trying to help Angel.

And if he believed that was all, he was a better liar than he thought.

. . .

After finding Sherry and Dwight in the registry, and after a bit more sleuthing, he was able to find Sherry's mother and her current number.

Daryl hoped making contact with Sherry Evangelista's family would resolve something. It didn't. Yes, it was one step in the right direction, there was still so much left unknown.

Sherry's mother, April, still lived in Virginia where Sherry had apparently grown up. April eagerly informed Daryl both Sherry and her husband disappeared three years ago. Left a brief note explaining that they were leaving and nothing more. It had been a hard couple of years before they left what with the death of her sister and a horrible car accident. Sherry blamed herself for the accident that left Dwight's face severely disfigured. Other than that, she couldn't pinpoint a reason why they might leave. Daryl promised to keep in contact with her just in case he found any more pertinent information. April agreed to email him a few pictures of Sherry and Dwight.

Dwight's father was less forthcoming. Said that if they chose to leave then it was probably "that Sherry's doing". According to Dwight Senior, she was no good. Clamped her claws into his boy. He also blamed her for the accident that "fucked up his boys face".

Neither knew anyone by the name of Angel. The new information he gathered wasn't going to break the case but every little bit helped.

. . .

Angel didn't mean to become defensive when he bought up Sherry and Dwight in such a casual way. They were _hers_, though. They were all she had to cling to from a former life that no longer existed. She missed them terribly.

It wasn't right to give Daryl a cold shoulder. He'd done so much for her including giving her a place to stay. Giving her his own bed. The more she stewed over it, the more guilty she felt for how she treated him.

Making the bed she had slept fitfully in, she yanked at the bedspread that was hooked on the bed frame, her frustration mounting.

"Damn it, why am I such a screw up?" She mumbled to herself when the blanket finally was freed and came slingshotting back at her. She fought the emotion that burned in her throat, a constant losing battle.

Maybe it'd be better if she just left. Daryl is busy, he doesn't have the time to do deal with her and her issues. She could return to The Sanctuary. Yes, there would be repercussions, harsh repercussions. After some time, though, things would return back to normal. At least she'd be in a world she is familiar with, and she'd be able to see Sherry again, as well as help all the babies being brought into that world. And yes, she'd have to become Negan's wife, a thought that sent a chill down her spine and fresh tears from her eyes

Everyone has a penance to pay.

. . .

"Everyone has a penance to pay," Negan said. He spoke those words often, mostly when someone dares go against his teachings, purposefully or not.

"'Which one of you with a hundred sheep, if he lost one, would fail to leave the ninety-nine in the desert and go after the missing one till he found it? And when he found it, would he not joyfully take it on his shoulders and then, when he got home, call together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, "Rejoice with me, I have found my sheep that was lost." Negan reiterated the Bible verse from memory.

Murmurs of agreement sounded through the crowd.

There were no bibles on the premise. None available to the Saviors anyway. Unless they had common knowledge of the Bible they gained before coming to The Sanctuary they had no idea if what he was saying was accurate. They didn't care. They followed blindly.

Sherry took her normal seat as she always did during meetings. She couldn't let on that anything was amiss. Dwight went with Simon to search for Angel in the towns. Play the part. Make it work for them until they found their way out. She couldn't let on what was in her mind. Inside, she screamed at Negan. On the outside, she was calm, face placid. She sat there as though she was enthralled with was he was saying even though she knew it was a load of bullshit.

"We won't let one of our heard go astray again." Of course, he'd use Angel's disappearance as a part of his sick, dissolutioned plan. His voice grew louder, commanding. "Now's the time to redevelop. To tighten our bonds. To continue our plight. We must not let one sheep's astrayment derail us."

He paused in contemplation, going on to repeat, "We all have a penance to pay. Our penance, in our weak and mortal flesh, is to live in an imperfect world. One where we often lose sight of why we are here. Some think things are better elsewhere. Well, let me tell you. The grass is greener on the other side because it's fertilized with manure."

_What the hell is he talking about,_ Sherry wondered, wishing he'd get to the point. These meetings we're becoming longer and more filled with nonsense. If that was even possible.

"Yes, it's time to get back on track about what we are doing here." He waited for the applause to die down before going on. "Sherry."

She snapped to attention at his use of her name.

"Sherry, would you join me, please?"

She hesitated only for a moment before her brain caught up with what was happening. She stood and walked to Negan front and center, feeling heavy like she was walking through cement.

"Sherry, my devoted Savior," he said softly, cupping her cheek with his palm. "You've earned your place. You've shown your commitment to the cause. I would be honored," he said, emphasizing the word honored, "if you would be my wife."

* * *

**Thank you for reading! This was kind of a transitional chapter. Moving from one situation to another. Building things up a little bit. Hope you liked it. Next chapter I promise will have more Bethyl. Leave a comment if you'd like! **


	12. You Belong

"Ya' know, we could always try for another one," Glenn told Maggie.

They sat together on the bench at their neighborhood park, watching as Hershel ran from one thing to the next and Anna Beth stood nearby playing with the tiny rocks that outlined the park. Maggie watched her like a hawk in case she decided to see what one of those tiny rocks tastes like.

It was chilly, but Glenn suggested they take them to the park to wear them out a little before their evening routine. How two little beings had so much energy is anyone's guess. Chilly by Georgia standards wasn't really that cold, still, Maggie had bundled them up in their jackets and hats knitted by their grandmother.

She side-eyed Glenn. "You're certifiable, ya' know that? Another one? And what's this 'try' business. You look at me and I practically get pregnant." It was true, Hershel was a little bit of a surprise and Anna Beth was a full-on surprise. Both wonderful surprises.

Glenn snuggled into Maggie's side, rubbing his cold nose on her neck. She squealed and tried to squirm away. "Glenn! We are at the park."

"Yeah, and no one is here beside us."

Maggie laughed sarcastically. "And our children."

"They're busy."

"You're relentless." But she sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. He'd been working so much they hardly had any time alone, as a family or just the two of them. She was going to soak up this moment.

"So Christmas, you're taking that week off right?" She asked.

Christmas was only a couple weeks away. It was stressful. Seeing Hershel getting excited about it made it worth it. In the previous years, he didn't quite know what to make of all the lights and noise and people and overwhelming amounts of presents. He and Anna were the only grandchildren on both sides. They were a bit spoiled by the aunts and uncles and grandparents. This year though, he seemed to grasp the concept. And who knew lying to your child about a man being carried by flying reindeer, sneaking into your house and leaving presents would be so fun?

It wasn't their fault their mother found it devastatingly depressing. Holiday's weren't the same without Beth. Nonetheless, she put on a brave face for her children.

Glenn sighed this time. "I'm going to try. I'm booked solid through this week. Christmas is on a Wednesday. It's difficult to take off the whole week."

Maggie pulled away, glared at him.

"But I'll try," he amended. "I'll definitely take off Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I can take Monday off too."

That was enough for Maggie for the time being. She didn't want to waste what little time they had together fighting. She snuggled back into his side, trying to be grateful. Grateful for Glenn and the kids, of course. Also thankful for her family, even if Beth wouldn't be joining them this year, just like last year and so many years before that.

. . .

Daryl stared at the screen of the computer, looking intently at the faces of two people he'd never met but were hugely important. There were three pictures of Sherry and Dwight attached to the email from Sherry's mother. Average looking couple. Sherry was pretty and looked happy in a frilly white wedding dress, Dwight in a suite had his arm affectionately around her shoulders. She faced the camera while he kissed her temple. His eyes were closed, it was clear even to Daryl that Dwight cared deeply for Sherry.

He stared at that picture until his eyes burned wishing it'd tell him something it wasn't going to.

The other two pictures didn't tell him much of anything either. One was a selfie. Dwight's outstretched arm snapped the picture of him and Sherry from their shoulders on up. They were at a beach, sand, and water in the background. The third picture was taken by someone else. It was a candid shot taken from a distance. It showed more of Dwight's lanky height and Sherry's shorter stature. They stood half a foot apart and were not looking or smiling at the camera. The side of Dwight's face was raised and bumpy. Irritated red. A result of the car accident both the parents spoke of.

He finally closed out the window and shut his laptop. Those pictures weren't going to tell him anything. If anything they frustrated him all the more because it didn't help.

He wasn't sure about showing the photos to Angel. How would she react? If her response to his bringing them up the day before was any indication it probably wouldn't be a good idea.

. . .

"She ain't here," Dwight told Simon, cupping his hand around the cigarette he was lighting. They weren't allowed to smoke at The Sanctuary, though he still did when no one was looking. Here, away from The Sanctuary, he could smoke out in the open. Luckily Simon smoked as well. His secret was safe with Simon.

"There is a road from the mountain that leads right to this town. Deduce Sherlock. Just 'cause the waitress said she ain't seen no one around, don't mean nothing. You think she's gonna' be parading around town?"

Actually, the waitress didn't say that. Simon was too preoccupied with her looks to remember what exactly she said or didn't' say. Dwight wasn't going to remind him. His personal job on this mission was to misdirect Simon. Get him away from town as fast as possible in case Angel was there.

He didn't want Simon to find Angel. There was no telling what Negan would do if they did find her and were able to bring her back. It wouldn't be pretty, that's for sure. As much as it hurt Sherry, he hoped Angel stayed away for good, for her own good.

"Why you in such a hurry to get back?" Simon questioned as they neared the truck.

"I ain't." Lies, he _was_ in a hurry to get back. He didn't like leaving Sherry there for very long. He tried to convince Negan to let just him go on this trip. That would have been the break he and Sherry needed to get the hell out of Dodge. Negan didn't go for it. No surprise there. He didn't fully trust Simon, let alone Dwight.

. . .

In a drawer in the kitchen, Angel found a pad of yellowed paper. She was on her fourth draft, the other three were balled up on the table in front of her. They were different variations of the same thing. Apologizing to Daryl, telling him in one way or another that she had to leave. That she was thankful for his help, but it was best this way, she didn't belong here.

Planting her elbows on the table, running her fingers through her hair she let out a sigh of frustration. She didn't understand why Daryl was preventing her from leaving.

She needed to put him out of her mind. If she thought too much about him, her throat would burn and her chest would tighten. She tried to talk some sense into herself.

_She was a burden and doing him a favor._

_He would no longer have to deal with her._

_He'd probably be relieved if she left._

Her feelings for him didn't matter. She was confused, that's all. She needed to get back to The Sanctuary where she belonged and things made sense.

That wasn't true either. Things did not make sense there either just as they didn't make sense here. What did she know about anything? She'd been told _how_ to feel for the last five years and before that...

A sharp knock at the door startled Angel to her feet, interrupting her melancholy thoughts. She hurriedly hid the crumpled up notes in the trash can and quietly went to the door, peaking through the curtained window to the side of the door.

The woman that owned the bookstore stood on the other side, two canvas bags hung from one hand, her other was poised to knock again.

Angel hesitated before opening the door reminding herself that not everyone was out to get her. This was a small town Daryl had told her more than once. The average person was curious and probably wanted to help. Carol had proven to be kind before.

Angel opened the door six inches, peered out. She probably looked a mess. She'd been crying off and on all morning. She'd yet to brush her hair or change out of the leggings and tank top she'd slept in.

"Hey there," Carol began. "Daryl mentioned this morning when I ran into him at the Diner that he left you here alone all day. I thought, well, that's got to be boring. I thought I'd stop in."

Angel was confused. Why would she do that?

"Brought you a few things to pass the time," she said, holding up the canvas bags.

Finally coming to her senses, which felt tender and raw like they were bruised, she nodded and opened the door the rest of the way.

Carol, making herself at home, went into the kitchen sat the bags on the table. "Course I had no idea what you like, but I thought to myself what woman doesn't like chocolate?" She hefted a giant bag of Snickers bars from one of the bags.

Angel must of betrayed her feigned distance because Carol laughed, handing the chocolates over to her. Angel had no idea how she knew she loved Snickers, but she was certain she did.

"Also got you a few clothes. Just some stuff I don't wear anymore. A sweatshirt. Couple pairs of leggings. Let's see what else. Oh, and a couple of word search and crossword books, a few paperbacks. I figured you'd already read the other ones you picked up a while ago."

Angel was touched. But bewildered as to why this virtual stranger was being so kind. At The Sanctuary they were taught all outsiders were bad and even if they acted nice, they had ulterior motives. Carol didn't seem that way. She seemed genuinely nice. Not the kind of person that would take advantage of someone she didn't know.

Angel hugged the bag of mini chocolate bars to her chest and whispered, "Thank you." If Carol was surprised she spoke, she didn't let on, a fact Angel greatly appreciated.

"I got to get back to the bookstore, if you want I can give you a ride to town. You can hang out with me or go get something to eat. I'm sure Daryl's around somewhere."

Angel liked that idea. Staying closed up in the house all day did have it's appeal as did plotting her way back to The Sanctuary. Seeing Daryl held more of an appeal.

"Oh. One more thing," Carol said, reaching into the bag she pulled out a bunch of hair ties on a plastic loop. "I know all that hair has to be heavy on your neck. It's beautiful but I never could do long hair," she laughed, running her hand through her own short hair.

Once changed out of her pajamas, Angel stood in front of the mirror, eyes sad and tired, she combed her hair up into a thick ponytail. It was silly, like so many other little things she's experienced over the past weeks, putting her hair up was an act of tiny rebellion. The women weren't allowed to wear their hair up at The Sanctuary. One time Angel was reprimanded for braiding a strand of her hair. She smiled definitely at herself in the mirror as she braided a chunk of hair in her ponytail.

. . .

Angel wandered around the bookstore for a while before thanking Carol again, she walked over to the station where Jessie greeted her at the front desk.

"Hey there Angel. It's been quiet here without you today," Jessie joked. "Daryl's back there somewhere."

Angel smiled and nodded, rounded the counter and followed the familiar hallway back to what she affectionately thought of as her first home. Daryl was on the phone, something about a kid kicking down a fence at the school when he saw her. The crooked smile that made her fingers tingle played across his face and he gave her a slight nod. She walked about, waiting for him to finish his call. It was strange, she'd only been away one night, it felt like so much longer.

"Whatcha' doin' here?" Daryl asked when he was off the phone. "Not that I mind," he said, a smile in his voice.

She slowly went to Daryl's desk, leaned on it, facing him where he sat in his chair. Fiddling with the tie on her sweatshirt that Carol had given her, still feeling awkward about last night. She shrugged in response to his question.

"I was goin' come back home at noon," he said, not wanting her to think he abandoned her.

"I know," she mumbled. "I'm sorry 'bout last night," she blurted. She didn't know how to make small talk. "You have every right to ask me about them." Clarifying who she meant she said, "Sherry and Dwight."

He peered up at her under the bill of his hat. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I acted so... ungrateful."

He sighed, stood. "Angel, you been through something. Something I don't understand or know about. One thing I do know is that you are not ungrateful." He stopped speaking and looked at her, eyebrows drawing together forming a crease in the center of his brows. "You changed your hair," he stated.

Confused, segue isn't his forte' apparently. She ran a hand down her ponytail and braid, uneasy under his direct attention. His blue eyes roaming over her hair, her face, her clothes. "Oh um, I just put it up in a ponytail. Carol stopped by, gave me some clothes and stuff."

Daryl took a step toward Angel running a hand over her ponytail just as she did. His touch had a completely different effect, though. She shivered involuntarily.

"Oh, he said, "that's nice. She's a good one."

Angel agreed, Carol did seem like a good one. She found herself curious about how Carol and Daryl knew each other but didn't know how to ask. It wasn't her business anyway. It didn't matter. If it didn't matter, why did she feel a prick of jealousy at their apparent closeness? If it didn't matter, why then did the proximity of his body so close to hers make breathing a little bit more difficult?

Just as soon as he stepped forward he backed away and changed the subject yet again. "Michonne's not here. I'm sure she'd like to see ya'. I think she's been cutting out to spend time with that boyfriend of hers."

"The one with a the stick up his ass?"

Daryl laughed outright. "Yeah, that'd be the one."

. . .

"Come on, it's obvious she's not here," Dwight reiterated for what felt like the hundredth time.

Dwight and Simon had split up, to see if they could find anyone that had noticed a new blonde in town. Dwight didn't ask a single person and luckily Simon had no luck. Now they were packed up and ready to head back up the mountain. The quicker they left, if she was there, they'd be less likely to find her. Simon seemed reluctant to leave.

"I just got a feelin'," Simon said.

"Oh hell. By all means, if you got a feelin' then let's stay. Buy a house. Start a family," Dwight sassed. The almost nonexistent patients he had for Simon were quickly waning.

Simon was looking over a map on his phone, locating the next nearest town. He was the only one besides Negan allowed a cell phone, not that it worked up on the mountain. Dwight was watching the town as it grew darker, twinkle lights in the trees were getting brighter. It was a nice little town, he supposed. People were heading home, doing one last errand, grabbing something for dinner. Heading home to their lives. It sounded blissfully normal. What life would've he and Sherry had if they stayed in Virginia?

He and Simon were parked in a back parking lot behind the main line of buildings. A glimpse of the main drag could be seen through an alleyway between two buildings. Dwight thought he was seeing things, it was only a split of a second. Rubbing his eyes, he was almost sure of what, or who, he saw.

"I gotta' piss and grab a pack of cigarettes, then we are going to go. Got it?" He told Simon before jumping out of the truck. Simon grunted out an acknowledgment before Dwight slammed the truck door and headed through the alleyway.

. . .

Angel hung out at the station the rest of the afternoon while Daryl came and went doing his job. She had brought a book and took up her normal spot in the backroom. Michonne came back and she gave her a warm smile, a hug. Daryl, Carol, Michonne, Jessie. They were all so kind her. But why? They and this town was nothing like Negan had warned.

They were heading home when Daryl had to stop at the hardware store to check on the owner who had been experiencing some petty theft. He said he'd only be a minute and Angel decided to wait in the Bronco in the slanted parking space just outside the building.

A moment or so after Daryl went into the store, a loud knock on the window had her jumping, a little yelp escaping her mouth. She didn't believe it when she saw the person standing on the other side of the door.

Overcome with emotion, she jumped out of the truck and embraced Dwight. Her voice didn't falter. "I've missed you so much. How is Sherry? I'm so sorry I left the way I did. I just… Wait. What are you doing here?"

He hugged her tightly in return. "Listen, I don't have much time. Sherry is okay," he assured.

"Okay? Only okay?" Did she expect her to be great? Stuck in that place alone, but not alone. There were plenty of people at The Sanctuary. Feeling alone when you're with a group of people only made the sense of loneliness worse. Angel knew this first hand.

"I'm trying to find us a way out," Dwight assured. "But right now me and Simon are trying to find you."

The mention of Simon's name made her stomach roll. If he found her, there was no telling what he'd do to her before handing her back over to Negan.

"For me?" She really didn't think Negan would go that far. Sure he'd be pissed and use her disappearance as a lesson. A cautionary tale. To go as far as to actually send people to the towns looking for her? She wasn't expecting that.

"Hell yeah. You know Negan's not going to give up on one of his brides."

"I hadn't married him yet," Angel reminded Dwight. It was a moot point. One that she felt the need to make.

"I know. I know."

Thinking quickly but not clearly she said, "Maybe I should come back with you?" Surely Dwight would keep her safe from Simon until they got back to The Sanctuary.

"No." He grasped her by the elbows, conveying his urgency. "You stay put!" Dwight all but demanded, she'd never known him to be so forceful. He had always been pretty gentle overall. "You forget about The Sanctuary and Negan. Forget me 'n Sherry."

"But…" Emotion wobbled her voice.

"But nothing. You found your way out. You're the lucky one. We love you and we miss you but stay away. Me and Simon are heading back tonight. Promise me you'll stay clear of the mountain."

She didn't feel lucky as she nodded weakly

"Promise me, say it," he said.

She nodded again, "I promise."

He seemed pacified with her promise. "I got to go," he said before giving her one last embrace and disappearing down the alley, darkness swallowing him up like he'd never been there.

Angel climbed back onto the Bronco. Numb. She had her chance to have the life she once had and that life no longer wanted her. It was devastating to think she'd never see Sherry again.

It was dark in the cab of the Bronco and when Daryl got back, he didn't notice she was barely holding it together. She was quiet on the way home and after a couple of tries, Daryl gave up on small talk. He sucked at it anyway.

Finally, back at his house, Angel slipped into the bathroom while Daryl went to the kitchen to find something to make for dinner.

In the bathroom, she couldn't hold back the tears. She sat on the edge of the tub, rocking back and forth, trying to sob quietly. After some time, Daryl said her name. She didn't answer. Couldn't answer. She didn't trust her own voice.

"Angel, what the hell is this?"

Surprised by Daryl's deepened voice more than anything, she took a few deep breaths. Went to the sink and splashed her face with water from the faucet, wiped it with a towel and opened the door.

Daryl stood in front of her with her wadded up notes she'd written that morning telling him she was leaving. When Carol stopped in, she hadn't forgotten about going back to The Sanctuary, she'd just postponed it a few hours. She had wanted to see Daryl one more time. And now… now she wasn't leaving at all. She was sure Daryl didn't want her living with him full time and she didn't have The Sanctuary to go back to and she couldn't remember anything beyond five years ago. She felt alone. Abandoned in a way. Orphaned.

"Just where you plannin' on going?" He asked, holding up one of the letters.

She rounded him and went across the hall into the bedroom, she tried shutting the door, but he blocked it.

"Uh uh. You're not shutting me out. Talk to me."

She turned her back on him, biting the inside of her cheek to keep the sobs at bay.

"Damn it, Angel," he said more forcefully.

She spun around, facing Daryl. She finally reached the end of her rope, exasperated with herself as much as the situation. "What? What do you want to hear? Yes, I was going to leave. I was going back to where I was," she yelled, her voice high and thin.

He took a step back, stunned by her outburst. He didn't back down, though. "Don't you know how dangerous that is? It's miles away and something tells me you weren't exactly safe there."

"Don't you think I know that? I didn't care. I _don't _care!" She sagged down onto the bed, sitting on the edge. She buried her face in her hands, sobbing. "It's the only life I remember, it's all I know."

Daryl kneeled down in front of her, taking her hands from her face, holding them in his own. "Angel, you gotta' tell me where you were."

"I can't," she squeaked out. And she honestly felt like she couldn't. She couldn't see a way it would end peacefully if he went up there. Where would everyone go? What would they do? Negan and his goons wouldn't react calmly.

"Talk to me, baby," he mumbled gruffly. "To _me_, not Sheriff Dixon. You can trust me. "

She blinked at him through the watery mask of tears. Kneeling in front of her, imploring her, his brow creased with worry. Worry about her. She didn't trust herself or the world she had stumbled into but, just maybe, she could trust Daryl. He helped her off the mountain. Took care of her injuries. Gave her a place to stay.

She wanted to trust him.

Taking a steadying breath, she spoke through a quivering voice. "I lived in a community up the mountain. It's called The Sanctuary. We call ourselves the Saviors." It sounded ridiculous even to her. "I'm not sure how I came to be there, but it's been my home for the last five years. I have friends there, people I consider my family," she faltered at the word family. " I need to get back to them. I don't belong here."

Daryl moved to sit next to her on the bed, wrapped her in his arms. He whispered, "Angel, you do belong here. You belong here with me. I've known it since I first saw you that night up on the mountain."

She didn't believe him and tried to push out of his embrace. He wouldn't let her. He held her closer, tighter until she gave in and melted into him.

"How can you be so sure I belong here**."**

"I just know."

Simple words for a complicated situation, but they were enough for the moment. They were what she needed to hear.

. . .

It was a long time before Angel's tears subsided. At some point, Daryl helped her lay down on the bed. Just when she was afraid he'd leave her, he told her, "I ain't goin' nowhere," and laid behind her, arms wrapped tightly around her. She felt safe for the first time since she could remember.

Before finally dozing off, she had a fleeting glimpse of herself, much younger than today. Her hands were damp, chilled with the fall air, as she scooped up a white sheet from the basket that sat on the ground. She flipped it over the clothesline, adjusting it and began pinning it with the clothespins she held in one hand. The smell of Tide wafted in the air. _One last air dry before the winter, dontcha' think Beth? _A distant voice asked her.

The voice was familiar. Warm like butter and honey on a sunny day. Looking around there was a large white farmhouse. It was lived-in, well-loved. As far as Angel was concerned, it was the most beautiful house she'd seen.

She startled awake, the light was shining through the curtained window. Daryl was still behind her, breathing steadily still asleep.

The fleeting glimpse was nothing more than an apparition evaporating into the night. The further she came to the surface of consciousness, the more it faded. By the time she opened her eyes and sat up it was all but a nagging itch in the back of her memory.

One thing did stay with her though. Who was Beth?


	13. A Path Out of the Darkness

**I hope you all forgive me for the time it took me to upload this. I apologize by offering you a 4,500+ word chapter! Thanks so much for reading!**

* * *

Angel moaned Dary's name, gasping for air that passion had robbed of her lungs. She wrapped her legs, thighs holding tight, around his hips. He pounded into her, penetrating deeper as her tightening legs dictated he should. Arching her neck, vulnerable skin was left open to him. He bit her swollen bottom lip, at the soft flesh of her neck, her protruding collarbone. Tasted her nipples, closing his mouth over one, sucking until she moaned his name again. Angel saying his name like that about drove him fucking insane.

She raked her fingers through his shaggy hair, lightly tugging, pulling his mouth back to hers. Their tongues danced together, bodies moving in unison. Hands roaming over every inch of bare skin. Faster and faster he pumped into her.

"Daryl, I'm gonna come," Angel moaned aloud.

Slipping a hand in between their writhing bodies, he found that sweet spot between her legs. She was so wet, so tight, so perfect. The pad of his calloused thumb rubbed against her swollen clit, forcing another moan from somewhere deep inside. He wasn't sure who that moan sounded from, himself or her.

She grasped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He was too preoccupied to notice the little daggers of pain it caused. She froze a split second before a violent tremor shook her body.

Suddenly Daryl was jarred awake by a sound or a movement. Whatever it was, it had the worst timing.

Remembering where he was and who he was with, he was reassured and immensely disappointed nothing had happened like it had in his dream. Once Angel's tears subsided, they fell asleep. As far as he knew they didn't move all night. Now, though, Angel was no longer next to him.

Panic slugged him in the chest and he sat upright looking for any sign of Angel. Without a doubt, if she took off as she wanted to he'd look for her till he collapsed in a heap of exhaustion in the middle of the road.

_Jesus, Dixon. Pull it back some_. Isn't that the number one thing they teach you in the Army? To remain calm no matter what? Whether it be a drill sergeant yelling at you for God knows what reason or a sniper holding you in its crosshairs - you knew he was there somewhere, but you had no idea where. No matter the cause, you kept your shit together.

Her pillow was cool. Looking around the room, her stack of paperbacks sat in their place on the bedside table. A crossword puzzle book was there too, a pencil was closed in the book, marking her spot waiting on her return. The bag she now carried with her everywhere hung from the closet doorknob.

Then the smell of something cooking wafted through the air,

What the hell was wrong with him anyway? In actuality, it was a good thing she wasn't lying with her body pressed against his after the dream he'd had.

He followed the fragrant smell of eggs to the kitchen. Angel stood at the stove, humming softly, stirring scrambled eggs in a skillet. The toaster popped and she quickly snatched the toast, placing the slices onto an awaiting plate.

"Mornin,'" he said joining her at the stove.

He felt a lightness in the air surrounding Angel. Maybe, practically forcing her to tell him where she'd been released the tension that was continuously coursing through her. It was his job to watch people, and she was no exception. Since he met her he observed her hunched shoulders, her balled fists. It didn't escape him that she continuously looked behind her. All those things might still be present, but maybe less so right now.

She looked up at him and smiled and all he could think was, Oh shit. He couldn't explain this feeling. This feeling of relief after waking up to find her missing from the bed, to finding her in his kitchen making them breakfast.

Damn. She was beautiful. Her hair was mussed, having fallen out if yesterday's ponytail. Her eyes were heavy with sleep. The sweatshirt she wore, a bit too big, slid off the slope of her shoulder showing milky skin that begged to be kissed. To him, she never looked better.

He was sinking deeper by the second into something so terrifying yet incredible he wasn't sure he'd ever find his way out. Or want to.

"Hungry?" She asked, scooping the eggs onto two plates.

They ate together talking quietly about the day ahead. Angel decided to stay at the house and he said he'd come back sometime around noon on his lunch break. He didn't want to outright say he was coming back to check on her, though that was in fact what he was doing. The house was on the outskirts of town without a phone and it made him nervous to think of her being there all by herself. He also still wasn't sure she wouldn't take off if given the opportunity. Being able to see her midday was a side benefit.

He went to leave and Angel followed him to the door.

"You be here when I get back?" He asked, only half-joking.

She smiled shyly. "Yeah. I'll be here."

He fought the urge to pull her into his arms. He settled on leaning in and placing a lingering kiss on her cheek instead.

. . .

Angel didn't wake up and suddenly everything was fixed. She couldn't say the pull of The Sanctuary still wasn't there or that her worry for Sherry had subsided. Or that her memory had suddenly returned.

She did, however, wake up next to Daryl and that wasn't a bad thing. He hadn't returned to his spot on the couch during the night. He stayed next to her all night long.

No, her worries weren't gone but she felt a little more confident about her place in things now.

When she woke Daryl's breathing was even and shallow, telling her was still asleep. His hand rested casually on her hip in a way that said he was comfortable with her. Or that he was in a deep sleep and didn't know where his hand was.

They were both fully clothed, she had a thin blanket over her and he laid without a cover, yet there was an intimacy between them. A closeness.

She closed her eyes and burrowed further down into the blanket and back against Daryl's chest. His quiet moan had her freezing in place. His hand moved from her hip and went around her waist, pulling her closer. He buried his face into her hair, inhaling deeply.

It was tempting to relax into him. Maybe even to roll over and face him. Allow herself to curl up into him and the heat his arms offered. His light breath on her neck, tracing her ear, made her senses come awake as though they'd been asleep seemingly forever. She had to cut off that part of her mind while at The Sanctuary. It wasn't safe to feel those things, especially around Negan. Now, here with Daryl, although he was asleep, every part of her hummed awake and ached to be touched.

She quickly, yet quietly, slipped out of his arms and off the bed. She doubted he'd reciprocate the feelings she was having. Who was she to him? Nothing more than a responsibility. She had little trust in her ability to know what someone else is feeling.

She backed out of the room and retreated to the kitchen where, after all he'd done for her, the least she could do was make him breakfast. Standing at the sink she drank a glass of cold water, shoving aside the remnants of those hidden feelings.

The name she heard in her dream, Beth, came back to her. It was probably nothing. Just one of those things that mean nothing in reality. But it nagged at her, like an itch she couldn't scratch.

She rummaged around in the cupboards before coming across a cast-iron skillet. Fetching the eggs from the refrigerator, she began cracking them into a bowl.

"Beth,'' she whispered the name aloud, hoping that hearing it might loosen up some sort of memory.

It didn't.

It was just a fluke, nothing more. Just like her reaction to Daryl's unconscious touch.

. . .

The week went on rather calmly. Angel spent time at the house, at the bookstore, at the station. Free floating about, waiting for something to happen. Or, preferably, for nothing to happen. This limbo she was living in didn't really bother her. Yes, it was not a good feeling being unable to remember one's past, she couldn't help but wonder if her mind is protecting her from something. What if what she'd been through before The Sanctuary was worse than The Sanctuary itself? What if it was better? If she thought about it too much, she'd get upset. Living in limbo, she decided, was better right now.

She at least talked Daryl into letting her walk where she wanted to. It wasn't that far and she was aware of her surroundings. She'd yet to tell him about Dwight and Simon coming to town. He had little knowledge she was in any danger. She doubted she was, Dwight said they were heading back, she didn't think they'd come back to town. Still, she tucked her long blonde hair up under a grey hooded sweatshirt and skirted the main road leading into town, trying her best to blend into the background.

. . .

The buzz at the station was Michonne's upcoming Christmas party. According to Daryl, she had too many parties. According to Michonne, he fought her about going to each one. Their comradery was quite comical. They teased each other but Angel could tell just how much they cared for one another.

"I ain't dressing up," Daryl claimed.

Michonne sighed, rolled her eyes dramatically. "At least this time you got a date," she commented, giving Angel a wink.

A party? Was she ready for that? She was becoming a familiar face around town, the idea of having to socialize and talk was a whole other matter. She did what she did best while Michonne and Daryl went back and forth, she stayed quiet.

Being Daryl's date, if Michonne was serious, appealed to Angel. In her recent memory, she hadn't been on a date. A real date. Negan would have special dinners with prospective wives as a group and individually. She hated the individual dates. Having Negan's undivided attention wasn't what she thought it'd be back before she found out who he truly was. Being Daryl's date was probably, hopefully, completely different.

It was silly to think about dates when she and Daryl shared every evening together that he wasn't working. Sometimes she would make dinner, sometimes he'd pick something up. Other times, her favorite times, they'd make dinner together.

One evening while they were making dinner together, Daryl announced he was going to be visiting his brother in the next day or two and asked her if she wanted to come with. He didn't make eye contact when he asked her. His neck flushed under his collar as though he was uncertain about asking her.

"You wanna' come with?" He asked, chopping onions with such concentration, you'd think he was being graded on it.

"You have a brother?" Angel asked, surprised. He hadn't brought him, or any family, up. She supposed she hadn't asked either.

"Yeah, Merle. I try to head up there a couple of times a year. Like now, before it gets to wet and the roads become almost impassable. It'd be nice to have some company for the ride there."

She didn't think to ask where his brother lived, but as they climbed the road up into the mountain, panic began to slither into her stomach once again. She didn't know if Daryl's brother, or anyone, lived near The Sanctuary. Why would she know, really? They weren't allowed to wander very far from the property. When she ran, she wasn't paying attention to her surroundings until she reached the Sutton's home.

. . .

Not surprisingly, there was no information about The Sanctuary or about the Saviors on the internet or any of the other databases he had access to. They must be pretty well hidden up there if no one, not even the town's old-timers, knew about them. He grew up on that mountain and never came across no cult. Of course they left when he was still relatively young. Still, if there was a large group of people living nearby, he'd know about it.

Angel didn't use the word cult, it didn't take a genius to figure out that's what it most likely was.

Pushing her wasn't going to get him anywhere and he wasn't lying when he said he wanted to go see Merle. He did try to get up there to see him before winter set in. And he would like Angel's company, that wasn't a lie either. If they were to get up there and something jogged her memory then that would be beneficial to her case. The idea of introducing her to Merle appealed to him too, which made zero sense. It's not like he and Angel were a couple.

All of this was true. Why then, did he feel like he was tricking her? He watched her closely as they climbed the mountain road. She stiffened, clasped her hands together tightly in her lap. He tried to keep her talking. He acknowledged this was near where he found her. She nodded. She obviously remembered. She watched out the windows of the Bronco as though someone might jump out at any second.

"Sutton's place is up that way," he said pointing out the windshield. "Merle's place is just a little further. Does anything look familiar? I know it was nighttime, but..."

"No. Nothin'."

Half truth, he read people, read her, well enough to know if they are lying or not. "You can trust me, ya' know?"

"Yes, I know," she answered, fighting off the tears that pooled in her eyes.

He reached over and took her hand from her lap, "I won't let anything happen to you. No one will harm you as long as you're with me," he reassured. That was the damn truth. Whoever it was she was afraid of would have to go through him to get to her and that was no easy task.

. . .

The area felt familiar, yet nothing struck her memory. She trusted Daryl, but Negan was a crafty man, if he was after her there was a good chance he'd find her. She shifted back and forth between wanting to go back to The Sanctuary and staying with Daryl. This pull she felt towards him was undeniable. When he took her hand in the truck on the way to Merle's, she didn't want him to let go.

After a bumpy ride, they pulled up a long equally bumpy driveway that led to a cabin. This wasn't like the Sutton's place, a trailer that had been added on to. This was an actual a-frame log cabin.

"I grew up here, " Daryl told her. "Course it was a literal shack back then. Merle has spent years building this."

He grew up here? Angel looked around the property, trying to picture a child-like Daryl meandering about. Causing trouble, most likely. The thought made her smile warmly.

Once they parked, children started to come out from all areas. Not only the home but from the lean-to garage. From the woods. From behind the house.

Angel looked over to Daryl and he smirked. "My brother's got a lot of kids."

"You're an uncle," she stated. For some reason, she found this endearing.

"Yeah, many times over."

By the time they made it to the door, they were surrounded by very excited children. They all took their turns jumping on Daryl or hugging him, one little one, in particular, grabbed a hold of his leg as he continued to walk. He seemed to be enjoying every second of it.

Two older boys ran ahead and into the house. One could be heard yelling, "Daddy, Uncle Daryl is here!" When they joined them in the entryway that opened to a living area, a fire roared in the river rock fireplace. A sparsely decorated Christmas tree stood in front of a picture window facing the front of the house. Lots of bright lights mixed with homemade ornaments.

More children were inside. So far, Angel counted six children. It reminded her of The Saviors. There were always children of all ages running about. At that moment she realized just how much she missed those children.

Winter was on them now and it was always a hard time. Somehow germs still made their way into the community and the children often became sick. They used natural remedies, homeopathic's. There was only so much they could do and they lost a child to pneumonia just last spring. It liked to have killed her, her heart was so broken for that child.

"Baby brother!" A voice barked from down a dark hallway. A man with buzzed hair and a sleeveless, stained shirt appeared.

"Merle," Daryl spoke quieter. Slapping his older brother on the shoulder.

Merle hefted one child onto his hip. He was about two with blue eyes that matched Merle's and had curly blonde hair. Daryl grasped the boy's chin and smiled, the boy smiled back with a big toothy grin.

"Everyone's gettin' big."

"Aw Hell yeah, they growin' like weeds."

They followed Merle further into the living area and he plopped down on a huge lazy boy chair, the boy snuggled into his side. "You brought company." His voice rose an octave, sounding leary.

"Yeah, this is Angel. A friend," Daryl added causing Merle to visibly relax only a little. Daryl sat on the sofa and motioned for Angel to sit next to him.

"Nice to see ya'," Angel," Merle said, eyeing her.

She didn't know what to say in return. Her voice was, once again, gone. Luckily, Merle didn't seem to care.

The same two boys that had run ahead ran back through the living room. She could see now they were twins. Identical actually. Daryl must have seen her smile as he touched her knee and said, "Matthew and Tommy. They're the oldest at nine. Twins. That's Jamison," he said nodding to the child Merle held. "He's what? 2 now?"

Merle nodded. "Just turned."

A tall woman came from the back of the house. Her blonde ponytail was high on her head. Angel could see the beauty that was underneath the exhaustion and puffiness from apparently, judging by the large bump under her t-shirt, being pregnant again.

"Well if it ain't my favorite brother in law," she said warmly. "And you brought a female with you, God love ya'."

Daryl stood, wrapped an arm around her waist and she enveloped him in a hug as close as her swollen belly would allow. "Look at you," he teased. He rested a hand on her belly and she placed a hand on her lower back and breathed out in exasperation.

"Yeah. And this one best be a girl. 6 boys!" Andrea turned her attention to Angel. "Can you believe that?"

Angel wasn't sure what to say. Six boys was a lot, that's for sure. Didn't need to be a mother to know that much.

"Andrea, this is Angel. She's kinda' shy. Doesn't talk much," he explained.

"Well that's fine, some people talk too much, I think."

. . .

"So, first came Tommy and Matthew. I had no idea what the hell I was doin' and Merle wasn't any help. But what can you do? Learn to ride or get off the bike, right?"

Angel supposed so. She was helping wash dinner plates in lukewarm water they'd had warmed up on the stove in the kitchen sink. Rinsing them in cold water from a blue water carrier with a spigot that sat on the counter ledge over the second sink.

The kitchen wasn't anything like Michonne's, it was functional, though, and tidy. The counters were made from concrete and the open shelving along the walls held just what they needed, nothing more, nothing less. A stack of plates. A handful of mason jars they used for glasses. The floor was wood, polished and clean of any dirt six children and a husband would inevitably carry in.

Together, they had made dinner had of venison backstraps, saved in the deep freezer on the deck for a special occasion. They deemed Daryl's visit a special occasion, apparently. Fried potatoes from where they were stored in their cold cellar. Canned veggies Andrea had grown in the garden this last summer. Homemade biscuits and butter too. Angel nibbled mostly on the sides, the meat was too rich for her.

Angel was impressed with Andrea. She ran a tight ship with all those boys, as well as Merle. The fact that she had few modern day amenities didn't slow her down.

"After the twins came the middles," Andrea said. She didn't seem to mind that Angel didn't speak much. "Micheal is seven, Beau is five, almost six, Garret is four and then Jamison is two. Like I said earlier, this one better be a girl." She rubbed her hand affectionately over her belly.

Angel marveled at this. The children were almost two years apart each. Women at The Sanctuary had children in quick succession as well. They didn't seem to have much of a choice. Andrea did, and it was clear she was happy with the family she and Merle created.

"You are quite blessed," Angel spoke quietly. The word blessed rolled off the tongue.

Andrea paused as she put a plate she'd just dried onto the stack on a shelf and gave Angel a beautiful smile. "Yes, we are blessed. Or crazy!" She finished with a laugh.

Daryl and Merle had disappeared outside after dinner and when Andrea went upstairs to a loft space to tend to the older children, getting them ready for bed, Angel found herself alone in the living room. Soon after, little Jamison appeared, blankie in one hand and a book in the other.

He lifted his little pajama-clad arms to Angel and she picked him up. Smelling of fresh soap, he leaned his damp hair against her chest as she sat in the rocking chair with him. She quietly began reading to him the book Goodnight Moon.

The words came easily, it was like she read it before. In that other life apparently.

Soon Jamison was snoring softly. She situated the blanket around his tiny body and held him. Rocking quietly in the dim light of the kerosene lamp, the fireplace crackling giving off its comforting warmth. The shadows of the pine Christmas tree shimmered on the walls and ceiling.

Some of her happiest times at The Sanctuary were when she assisted birthing the babies or helped take care of the growing population of children. They were so sweet, so innocent. Perfect in that chaotic world.

They were, in all likelihood, only a few miles from The Sanctuary, but it felt a world away. She felt safe here. Placid even, in that tiny A-frame home.

. . .

"A cult? The fuck your talking' 'bout?" Merle snapped his eyes to Daryl's. It was a dark night, brisk. Much like the night he found Angel. He and Merle stood next to a burn barrel ablaze with trash.

"Shh," Daryl shushed loudly. "Don't say nothing to anyone."

Merle gestured outwardly with his hands. "Who am I gonna' tell?"

True enough. Merle didn't exactly associate with many people. "Not even Andrea. You know I like her just fine, but she ain't got no filter."

Merle snorted a laugh, "If that ain't the truth. But na' I don't know anything about no cult. My closest neighbor is Sutton's, you know that."

"You haven't noticed anyone new on the mountain?"

"You mean a buncha' goofballs chanting, wearing robes 'n shit? No, I haven't noticed that." He took a drag and judging from the skunky smell Daryl knew it wasn't a cigarette he was smoking.

"Christ, would you put that out? At least wait till I leave."

Merle smoked weed regularly since he was a kid. The fact that his brother was the sheriff didn't deter him. They grew it in the garden along with the basil. It was for personal use and while it was technically illegal in Georgia, Daryl let it slide. Merle could and has done worse. He cleaned up his act since the twins were born. And really, was marijuana any worse than alcohol? Daryl arrested many people for being so drunk they couldn't stand and he'd yet to arrest anyone from being too high on weed.

"So what's the story between you two?" Merle asked, ignoring Daryl's request to put the joint out, he inhaled again.

"Nothin'." Daryl felt Merle's gaze on him.

"You ain't never brought a girl up here to meet your redneck brother before."

True enough, he wasn't going to admit that though. He wanted to see his brother and he wanted to see if the area was familiar to Angel. Two birds with one stone. That's all there was to it.

"What's her story?" Merle asked.

"Just someone I'm tryin' to help. That's all."

Merle scoffed. "Always a bleeding heart ain'tcha?"

He was glad Merle didn't push him any further on the topic because he could lie to himself easily enough, he couldn't lie quite as easily to Merle. Like Michonne, Merle knew him too well.

Just to be sure Merle didn't bring it back up Daryl flicked his cigarette into the fire and went inside saying he was cold. If Merle knew of any close neighbors, other than Sutton's place, he'd have told Daryl.

He found Angel in the chair, rocking a sleeping Jamison. Bathed in the firelight, eyes unfocused on the flames in the fireplace, she looked completely at ease holding his nephew. She appeared to belong there.

Holy hell, he was fucked.

Head cocked, he watched her. He wished she'd tell him everything. Everything that she hid in her mind. But maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was better if he didn't know. Ignorance was bliss. If he did find out, what if she'd have to go back to wherever it was she came from and he'd lose her?

Andrea came from down the stairs a hand on her back again. She looked much more tired than she didn't when she went up.

"Well, look who made a friend," she said quietly, picking Jamison up from Angel's arms. "Angel it was great having you here, and Daryl don't be such a stranger," she said, placing a kiss on his cheek before saying goodnight and heading back down the hallway.

Angel's arms felt empty and cold without Jamison. Daryl offered her a hand and helped her out of the chair.

"Ready to head home?" he asked. The uncomfortable tightness returned to his chest, just as it always did when he stood near Angel.

She shrugged a shoulder. He ran a roughened hand over her soft cheek. She leaned into it, closing her eyes. Instead of letting go, Daryl pulled her into his arms. Surrounding her with his comforting warm arms. Slowly, after what felt like a short hour, she wound her arms around his waist, regarding him thoughtfully. Contemplatively focused on his eyes.

They stood like that, neither one moving afraid to break the spell of the moment. They were on borrowed time, though. Merle would be in any minute. Slowly Daryl lowered his lips to hers. When she sighed and leaned into him, moving her hands to his chest, he angled his head, parting her lips gently with his tongue.


	14. Spoken to a Memory

I hope this chapter isn't too chatty. I just can hear their conversations in my head so clearly.  
Thank you so much for reading. :)

* * *

Angel had no idea what to make of that kiss. Her lips still buzzed with the pressure of his. Her mind buzzed as well in anticipation of when it might happen again. She felt the kiss everywhere. Her lips, the tips of her fingers, her toes, a strange pull in her stomach.

"Thank you," Angel said once they were slowly on their way back to town, the heavy ping of fat raindrops sounded on the roof of the Bronco, breaking up the silence of the cab save for the rain.

Daryl glanced at her then quickly back to the road. "What for?"

"Bringing me to meet your brother and his wife." She was yet again shown that there were good people in the world.

"I'm glad you came."

"They seem happy."

Daryl nodded. "Yeah, I think they are. Merle had a hard life until he met Andrea. It's good to see him settled."

"If he had a hard life, doesn't that mean you did too?" Angel perceived.

"Na'. He was wilder than me. I cut out at eighteen Joined the army. Army doesn't leave you too much time to get into trouble." It's probably what saved him from a life of problems.

"But your life wasn't easy? Even after you got out of the army." She wanted him to tell her about his life. She wanted to know all there was to know.

Jutting a shoulder, he said, "Better than some, worse than others."

He was no doubt downplaying whatever it was he'd gone through as a child and she let it slide for now. It's not like she was an open book. He hadn't pressed her for more information, to which she relieved. It was difficult telling him she was gullible enough to become part of a cult. To tell him just how bad it was would probably push him completely away. Still, a lie by omission is still a lie and she didn't feel good about it.

"Andrea's due next month, right?"

That was Angel's guess and Andrea had confirmed it. Of course, Angel would be interested in Andrea's pregnancy having been a midwife at The Sanctuary. Daryl wouldn't know that. It was probably an odd question that she shouldn't have asked.

He didn't seem put off by it though answering her without missing a beat. "Could be. I didn't even know she was pregnant. She musta' been the last time I was up there but Merle didn't say anything."

Angel smiled to herself. _Men_.

"Do you want kids?" She asked, the question slipping out before she had a chance to think better of it.

He must have been surprised because, through the dark, she saw his head snap towards her quickly before returning back to the road. "Yeah, I guess. Never thought of it before other than in a general way. Maybe not seven though," he guffed. "What about you?"

Warmth spread through her body. Out of all the things she was unsure about she was sure about this. The warmth was quickly replaced by sadness. Her only chance at motherhood was having Negan's children. She thought about that often in the months before she left. Could she forgo love for the opportunity to have children? Not only foregoing love to have children but having children with a man like Negan.

"Yes, I always wanted to be a mother."

He must have detected that sadness because he said, "You will be a mom one day and you'll be a great one."

The warmth was back. Daryl had said the best thing he could have at that moment.

The conversation died down as they retreated into their own thoughts. Soon Daryl had to reduce speed even more and clicked the windshield wipers up to high.

"At least it ain't snow," he commented at the downpour.

Without thinking, the words tumbled from her mind and out of her mouth - this was happening more and more it seems, she said, "My Mama always said, 'no rain, no flowers'." As soon as she spoke, she clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling a gasp of bafflement. Tears instantly spilled from her eyes.

Daryl stopped the truck right in the middle of the road, the breaks making a small squeal on the wet pavement. Hitting the switch for the dome light he faced Angel. Waiting to see if she'd say more.

"Your Mama?"

"I… I can see her in my mind." Angel closed her eyes tightly, straining to remember, to hold onto that brief and all too fleeting memory. She remembered her touch. Inhaling deeply she could almost smell the lotion she used. Could hear her mother's voice, filled with warmth and optimism. _No rain, no flowers. _But like a dream, it was dissipating too quickly.

"No, don't go Mama. Stay with me," she spoke to the memory.

Daryl was out of the truck in a heartbeat heedless of the rain, he rounded the truck and opened her door, surrounded her in his strong protective arms. She clung to him like a buoy, keeping her afloat, keeping her from sinking down into despair. It was devastating, having the memory of her mother with her only to lose grasp of it so quickly. She wanted to scream but her voice clamped in her throat, instead, she sobbed into Daryl's shoulder.

. . .

Daryl felt almost hungover. Emotionally hungover. Tension tightened his shoulders and his heart felt heavy. He held Angel until her sobbing subsided and he got back behind the wheel and drove home holding tightly to her hand. The sobbing had stopped, but she cried quietly the whole way.

When they arrived home, he helped her to bed where she curled up into a ball. When he turned out the light, a bare bulb in the center of the ceiling with a pull string, plunging the room into a shadowy pitch, she whispered _Stay_. And so he did. He stripped down to his boxers and undershirt and slid into bed with her. She easily nestled into his side and he placed an arm around her shoulders while she rested her head on his chest. Pressing his lips against her the top of her head, she fit perfectly next to him.

She lifted her head, eyeing his silhouetted face. "I'm sorry I'm such a wreck." Her words were soft as usual.

"You ain't a wreck."

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Leaning back so he could see her face through the dark. "I want to help you," he replied truthfully.

"You keep saying that. But why?"

That was a loaded question with an even more complicated answer. Why _did_ he want to help her? Maybe because she intrigued him. Maybe because those big blue eyes of hers hid a story she couldn't remember and he wanted to help figure out what that story was. Maybe because she was stronger than she knew. She was strong and broken and brave all at once and he found that mysteriously aberrant. And because he felt something for her he didn't understand, something he'd never felt before.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, her angelic face glowed in the faded moonlight through the curtained windows. The wind blew hard outside, inside the heat he felt came from deep within.

He wasn't good with words or the emotions that sometimes went along with them. In place of a response to her question, he leaned in and kissed her again.

Kissing her for the first time in Merle's living room was like opening Pandora's Box. It opened a world he didn't know existed. A world that possessed her body. Her hands that were currently tracing from his chest down his stomach. A world with her hair, her skin, her hips. Her tongue. Soft and wet, dancing in and out of his mouth. Her lips soft and pliable under his. Her moan. Her moan that made his mind, as well as his body, wake up from its self imposed celibacy.

As he cupped her hip with his hand, pulling her closer, her leg slid up his draping over his thigh. He was well aware of every inch of her body that pressed into his. His hand trailed up her body, lightly cupping her breast. On a sharp intake of breath, she arched her back pushing herself into his hand.

A voice in the back of his mind warned him to stop. Once he crossed that proverbial line, there was no turning back. He needed to end this before it went too far. As she shifted her body to lay half over his, the voice grew louder. He regrettably pulled back. Placed a hand over hers where it rested too low on his stomach. Gave her one last brief kiss.

"We should probably get some sleep. It's late." If you called eleven p.m. late.

Breathing heavily, she objected, "But…"

"It just ain't the right time, Angel."

And it wasn't. For all he knew she was a virgin or could have been sexually abused at The Sanctuary. He wasn't the type to take advantage of a person's vulnerability and he didn't want to do anything she'd regret. There were too many unanswered questions to let things go too far, no matter how badly he wanted them to. He felt so helpless unable to fix this for her, sex would only complicate things more.

"Oh." Barely a whisper heard above the wind outside.

She pulled away but he pulled her back to his side. Angel sighed and snuggled back down into the blankets and, thankfully, into his side. He was relieved when her breathing slowed and her head weighed down on his chest as she fell asleep.

In the morning he lightly kissed her forehead and left her sleeping soundly. He was hoping to do a little more research on The Sanctuary and Dwight and Sherry. He'd felt he hit a dead end but there must be something there. Something he'd missed.

On his way to the station, so distracted he was, he almost forgot to check on an elderly couple's house. They spent most of the winter months in Arizona and Daryl looked in on it periodically. After the rain and wind they had last night, he wanted to be sure no damage was done.

He made a right off Main Street and around the block towards the two story Cape Cod style house, past the children's park that was in need of some repair. He made a mental note to have Jessie write up a proposal for a workday this summer to get the community to help spruce it up a bit. Shouldn't take more than an afternoon, he was thinking to himself, many hands made for light work… when he came across a house with Michonne's car parked at the curb. There was no doubt it was her vehicle, it had the emergency lights on the roof.

This was perplexing. He slowed his vehicle as he drove past. It was six in the morning, no calls had come across on the radio so she most likely wasn't on police business. A quick glance at the mailbox told him the home belonged to Grimes. What on earth would Michonne be doing at Rick Grimes's house so early in the morning? She had hired him to do some work around her house, last Daryl knew he finished up that work and gotten more steady employment working construction. The sun had yet to rise fully, the street lights were still on and the house was dark.

It wasn't his business, he reminded himself. Michonne could and did do whatever she wanted. She didn't have to explain anything to him. Now that he thought about it, he had felt a distance between them lately. She was still her normal self that razzed him every chance she got, but he detected something was amiss. He knew that no-good Mike was living with her, even though she hadn't told him yet. It wasn't like her to keep secrets. Maybe it's his fault for being so preoccupied with Angel. Maybe he was being a shitty friend.

Frustration burrowed in his gut. He was getting nowhere with his research of The Sanctuary and something odd was going on with his partner; with his best friend. And with Angel, it seemed to be two steps forward, three steps back. His feelings for her grew more every day, he was at a loss. He drove off before Michonne saw, or heard, the Bronco. One thing, though, he'd be sure to pay Rick Grimes a visit later.

. . .

Angel wanted to ignore the knocking at the door. She _tried_ to ignore it, but it was persistent. After a few knocks, Angel heard Carol's voice muffled and far off. Giving in, she kicked the blankets off and stumbled to the door.

The sun shone brightly behind Carol, causing Angel to squint, the cool air hit her sharply after being snuggled up in bed under the covers. She had no idea what time it was, sleep still clouded her brain. After last night, she had no intention of getting up today. On the other side of the threshold, Carol appeared to have other plans. She was smiling cheerfully, if not a little mischievously reminding Angel of the first time they met.

"Hey! You gonna' sleep the day away?" She asked, sidestepping Angel and entering the house.

"I was hoping to."

"Sitting around feeling sorry for yourself never fixes anything," Carol said bluntly.

"Who said I was feeling sorry for myself? I just want to sleep is all," Angel mumbled, gratefully taking the steaming cup of coffee in a to-go container Carol handed her and sat on the sofa, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"It's ten in the morning and you're still sleeping. It's time to seize the day!"

Carol wasn't in the least perturbed by Angel's grumpy mood. She sat on the other side of the sofa. "So, what's up?" Carol asked, sipping her own coffee. "Why the mood?"

Tears instantly came to Angel's eyes. She scrubbed her hands over her face, annoyed with the constant overflow of emotions she felt. Swiping at the tears with on the sleeve of her sweatshirt, she tried to fight them off. Crying in front of Daryl was bad enough and now she was crying in front of a virtual stranger. Wiping her eyes didn't help, tears still streamed down her face.

Reaching into her huge purse, Carol pulled out a travel packet of kleenex and handed them over to Angel. "What is it? What's wrong?" She asked. The kindness in her voice made the tears come faster.

She took a Kleenex from the packet and mopped at her face, trying to rein in the tears. "I'm just so frustrated," she said honestly.

"'Bout what?"

Angel shrugged. "Nothing. Everything."

Carol chuckled. "Well, that narrows it down."

Angel recounted what happened last night, how her mother came and disappeared. "What I do remember comes and goes so quickly. I wish I remembered nothing if that's how it's going to be. Nothing would be better than these tortured little bits I keep getting. Not only that, I just don't know what to do next, where to go." Her voice hickuped with emotion at the thought of leaving Daryl.

It would have been easy to let things go further last night and she couldn't say she wouldn't have stopped it if Daryl hadn't. His arms, his hands. His lips on hers. It felt so good. So _right_.

"That's a tough one, for sure. I'm so sorry, I can't even imagine." Carol leaned over and rubbed her shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Let me ask you this, is there anything you can do about it?"

Feeling the tears beginning to let up, she said, "No, I don't know _what_ to do."

"You've got to keep moving forward. I don't have anything against a good mope, but you can't unpack your bags and stay there."

"I don't know how to move forward. I'm stuck," she said with frustration.

"You move forward by doing the next thing that needs to be done. You can't become stagnant in the unknown."

Angel shook her head, overwhelmed by the fact that moving forward was even a possibility.

"But how?" Angel asked.

"You just do." Carol laughed kindly. "Okay, it's not that easy. Years ago I was in a terrible marriage. He was an abusive prick of a man. I knew I had to leave, for myself and for my daughter."

Shocked, Angel looked over to Carol. "You were married? You have a daughter?" Angel wasn't sure why this surprised her. She didn't know Carol that well.

"Yep. My daughter Sophia is twelve. She was a baby when I left." Carol's eyes softened at the mention of her. "So I took Sophia and ran. I thought that'd be the hard part, and it was. But I didn't expect to feel disconnected from everything and everyone. I had no idea what to do with my life. I met Ed when I was fifteen friggin' years old. I had to start all over again, create a whole new life."

Carol's work sank in slowly. Maybe it was doable. People picked themselves up, dusted themselves off after much worse things than a little amnesia and a five-year stint with a cult. If you thought of it that way, it was almost comical.

Angel brushed her messy hair off her face, took a steadying breath. Nodded. "Okay. So what's next?"

A triumphant smile lit Carol's face. "The mall!"

The mall? Angel hadn't heard that word in ages. In that vague way she seemed to remember things she recalled a large building with lots of stores and lots of people. She remembered the excitement of going there because they didn't go very often.

"I thought I'd try to find something to wear for Michonne's party. You could too! No offense those leggings won't cut it."

Angel picked at the little balls of lint off her leggins. "I don't know about that."

"About what? The party or the leggings?"

"Both"

"Ah, come on! It'll be fun. You'll feel better once you get out of the house."

"I don't have any money." That was true enough even if it was just another excuse to stay home.

Carol waved off Angel's words with the flip of a hand. "I'm sure we can find something inexpensive. You can work a couple of days stocking books at the store to pay me back."

That appealed to Angel. Working for it instead of having it handed to her. Soon, Carol browbeat Angel into going to the mall. Once she was out of the house, Carol was right, she felt much better.

. . .

Everyone was required to be present during the unification. Even the small children. Unification, it was as ridiculous as it sounded. Negan claimed he needed everyone's divine approval. It was a celestial event brought to them by the heavens above and therefore special and everyone attended.

Sherry stood front and center in her white robe. Shaky and light-headed. _Angry_.

_What would he do if I refused? What would he do if I let loose the scream that burns in my throat? What would he do if I kneed him in the nuts and ran,_ Sherry wondered?

How she wished Angel was there. She'd know what to do. Although the irony of it was if she was there she'd be Negan's wife by now. All the wives lived together when it wasn't their night with Negan, at least they'd be able to still see each other.

On the other hand, while yes, she wished Angel was there, she was glad she wasn't. Sherry hoped Angel was far from here and happy.

Now, though, she had her own problems to contend with. How the hell was she to escape this mess? Once it was formally announced Neggan didn't waste much time. Timing was everything.

She scanned the crowd for Dwight. He wasn't in his usual spot next to Simon. They'd made it back from town days ago but they hadn't had any contact. She was watched more closely. She hasn't been alone longer than the time it took her to use the restroom. Someone was always at her side.

She was glad Dwight wasn't present for this. The thought of him seeing this made her heart ache heavily with grief. Grief for the marriage they, she and Dwight, were supposed to have. Had they not come here, they'd probably have their own children by now. Their own home. A small two-story in a good neighborhood with decent schools.

She couldn't even remember why they came here, to begin with, couldn't pinpoint what the deciding factor was. Was it the accident? Was it Tina's death? Whatever the reason she'd never forgive herself for it. She not only messed up her life, she also messed up Dwight's.

Negan was going on, as he always did. She was thinking about Dwight and their own wedding day when Negan finally paused and took her by the hands, facing her.

"Sherry, on this momentous day we are brought before our brothers and sisters and God himself to join together in a partnership, a unification, of two people striving forward into a new creation."

Sherry fought the urge to roll her eyes. Negan held her hands tightly, almost painfully. She could hardly see him through the gauze of the veil that draped clear down to her waist. How many women, how many girls, wore this before her?

This wasn't right. But there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

After the unification, they stood at the front as each Savior lined up to say their congratulations one at a time. The women were in a line to the right, some with tears in their eyes - tears of joy, tears of mourning, who knew, and the men were in a line to the left. They took turns greeting the 'new couple'.

She refused to believe she was the only one to see this for what it was but no one dared to not smile and wish them a fruitful future. All except for Eugene. He was an awkward fellow with his mullet hair and science driven mind. He didn't smile.

The two had hardly shared more than a few sentences in their time at The Sanctuary. He took Sherry's hand in his, not in the way you do during a handshake but as if he was going to kiss the back of her hand. He didn't kiss her hand, much to Sherry's relief. Instead, he slipped something into the curve of her fingers and gave her a pointed stare before following the person in front of him to congratulate Negan.


	15. Always the Sheriff

**My internet is so slow (thank you backwoods Michigan) that spell check isn't working correctly. I apologize in advance. Thank you for reading! Leave a comment, let me know what you think!**

Daryl had every intention to ask Michonne what she was doing parked in front of Grimes's house at six in the morning. Once at work sitting across from Michonne, something kept him from asking. He had his own secrets he wasn't sharing with Michonne.

Sharing his bed with Angel was first and foremost. He did manage to keep his hands to himself since the night they went to visit Merle. Every night since then he'd slept with her by his side.

He couldn't explain it to Mchonne because it made little sense to him. Very few people would understand sleeping with someone but not being romantically involved with them. That probably wasn't true. Michonne would understand or she would at least try to.

Yet for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to tell her. Hell, he couldn't explain it himself, let alone another person. Which was why he couldn't bring up her being with Grimes.

She was still involved with Mike. He drove through town plenty in his sporty little red Mazda. Daryl even had the pleasure of stopping him for speeding.

Now there was this thing between him and Michonne. This awkwardness that he hoped he was the only one to feel it.

. . .

After the unification, they retreated to Negan's cabin. A fire roared in the fireplace. The kerosene lanterns lit the room with a warm glow. A table was set for two in the center of the front room he used as an office. A wine bottle sat next to a bouquet of white roses in the center of the table. It would almost be romantic if for the fact that it was all a farce.

Negan ushered her to the table, pulled a chair out for her. "The wives cooked us up some roast. I do hope you like roast."

Like she could say no, so she nodded. He rounded the table and sat down with her. "But this isn't about the wives or the food. It is about just the two of us." As he spoke, he was making a great fuss, opening the wine bottle, pouring her a glass of the grape colored liquid and then pouring his own.

Negan spoke against drinking alcohol so this surprised her. It must have shown on her face because he said, "Now, don't you worry. I'm sure God won't mind if we partake in a little wine on this night of our nuptials."

She nodded again, knowing God had nothing to do with this depravity. She'd drink the whole bottle if she could get away with it. Being drunk might make the night she had to endure go a bit smoother. She took her first swig before Negan sat back down.

"Easy now. How about a toast?"

She took another big gulp before holding the glass out, choked, coughed. "Uh-huh, yes. Sorry."

"When you first came here, the second I saw you I thought to myself, 'this woman, will be my wife'."

Sherry did her best to keep her face placid. The ridiculousness of it, acting as though she was something special to him. He married every woman that came to The Sanctuary that was under the age of twenty five.

"I promise to love you, to hold you, to keep you dear…"

Except when he was having sex with one of his other wives. Not that she cared.

"I promise…"

Just as she was tempted to throw it at him, the glass slid from her fingers and fell to the table, spilling its contents.

"Oh no!" She feigned mortification. "I'm so sorry. I've ruined everything."

She thought for a moment that Negan might get angry or yell, instead after a moment's pause, he smiled kindly and said, "Enough of that. It is perfectly fine. Just let me grab some rags."

When he exited the room, she moved quickly. Reaching into the collar of her dress, she removed from her bra the capsule that Eugene had given her in the procession line. Eugene had been at the end of the line and she was able to escape to the restroom, hiding the pill before rushing back to join Negan. A small note on a tiny scrap of paper written in Dwight's handwriting had been taped around the pill. It read:

_Honey, please know that I love you and I'll never give up hope that we'll be together again. With any luck, this is our chance. _

_If you can, slip the powder that is in the pill into Negan's drink. Eugene says it'll knock him out for hours. If it works and you can get away I'll be by the road that leads to the towns. I'll wait for you there all night. _

_Love, Dwight._

She didn't have much time to question it. She only acted. Opening the capsul she poured the powdery substance into the wine glass he left on the table. She stirred it with her finger, sitting back down just as he reentered the room with a wad of old rags in his hand.

. . .

Daryl never dated much. Well, he never dated at all. Not even in high school. Just an occasional hook up when a girl that felt like slumming it with a Dixon. At school, they'd treat him like he was trash. Come the weekend, after they had maybe half of a beer they'd be all over him.

As an adult his relationships, if you could call them that, usually started out as one night stands that didn't go home in the morning. He was in the army and was never in one place long enough to keep things going anyway.

He supposed this would be as close as he'd gotten to a real date his whole life. Sitting on the couch waiting for Angel to get ready. Waiting for her to do her hair, get her clothes together - something new Carol helped her pick out, and even putting makeup on. It all bared a semblance of familiarity with what he thought others experienced as a _normal_ part of life.

What was normal anyway? This situation was far from normal. He wouldn't trade it for anyone else's _normal_ life. Because the girl at the center of this situation made it all worth it. A girl who couldn't remember her last name. A girl with a broken heart but neither knew exactly what broke it. A girl who he grew more fondly of every day.

"Ya' ready?" She asked from behind him.

And with one look at her, he'd forgotten what he'd been thinking. She wore her hair down in long tendrils, black jeans as tight as a second skin, a long sleeved cropped shirt that ended just where her jeans started high on her waist. It was casual yet different than her normal sweatshirt and stretchy leggings she normally wore. She always looked good to him, this was... different.

He stood, opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out. Funny how the tables had momentarily turned.

"Something wrong?" She asked, her forehead creasing with concern.

He cleared his throat, "No, nothing. Let's go."

. . .

The air was chilly enough that their breath came out in little puffs of air and it took a few minutes for the heater in the Bronco's to kick in. Luckily it didn't take long to get to Michonne's house. Once there they had to park behind a line of cars along the curb. This wasn't the little get together she always claimed it was going to be. When was he going to stop falling for that? She said it every single time. Every single time there were always more people than she let on was going to be there. Judging by the cars lined up, she must have invited everyone in town.

Either Angel took Daryl's hand or he took hers as they walked along the sidewalk to the house. He stood back before climbing the steps to the side entrance, hesitating.

He had a strong urge to turn around and head back to the truck. Go home and lay in bed with Angel. Was that so wrong?

Angel paused when Daryl's hand pulled her back. She turned on the heel of her boot, looked at him quizzically, their bodies almost touching but not quite. It'd only take a shuffle of his boot, another pull of her hand, and they would have the contact he craved.

"Hey," he stammered. The anger he felt for himself growing - why couldn't he just say what he was thinking? "I, uh, just wanted you to know, you look good. Really good," he grumbled. His eyes dropped to their intertwined fingers. Thankfully they were in the shadows and he hoped she wasn't able to see his cheeks reddening in the dim light the street light gave off.

The quizzical look disappeared and she smiled brightly. "Thank you."

He wanted to lean in, kiss her. In the end, he decided against it, who knew what prying eyes were watching. He tugged at her hand and they walked up the stairs to the already crowded house. Voices and muffled music sounding through the walls.

Michonne greeted them at the door, taking their coats. Giving them each a hug.

"I'm so glad you came," she said warmly.

Mike, unfortunately, wasn't too far off. Daryl settled for a glare rather than a suitable greeting. Michonne caught him and leaned in, whispering "You behave."

"Why wouldn't I behave?" He asked all innocence.

"Yeah, cut the innocent act, Mister," Michonne said, before laughing. He wanted to point out it was her that was seemingly not too innocent.

The house was packed with what Daryl guessed to be the whole damn town. The bar was stocked and there was enough food and dessert to feed, well, the entire town. A huge Christmas tree was set up in the far corner, immaculately decorated. The smell of pine and cinnamon wafted through the air.

Angel stuck close to Daryl at first, or did he stick close to her? Either way, she smiled politely when introduced to someone new, doing her best with the hello's and how are you's that kind of situation required. Sometimes she'd only nod. She seemed put off by those that were the most boisterous, those that had already had too much to drink. But Daryl was impressed. She was holding her own just fine. Considering just a short time ago she didn't speak at all.

Then Carol stole her away from him and he was the one left feeling alone. He found a corner at the kitchen island and perched there, talking when he had to. Mostly, he kept an eye on Angel to make sure she was okay. And maybe it made _him_ feel better knowing, seeing, that she was, in fact, fine. Whenever he'd catch her eye from across the room, his heart would do an extra bump in his chest. He was both enamored and mortified by this. No one had that kind of effect on him before. Part of him wanted to kick his own ass for being such a wimp.

Why did he feel it made him a wimp, he wondered? He had to be tough growing up. His dad didn't want no sissified sons. Merle, though relaxed significantly in the last few years, didn't take to kindly to what he considered "bleeding heart" behavior. The army definitely didn't have room for anything less than the toughest. The situations he found himself in were dangerous and his emotions were best left well below the surface.

Tonight, years after his father had died, miles away from Merle and no longer in the service, he came to the realization allowing a little emotion in was acceptable. If catching a girl's eye from across the room made him a little weak in the knees, so be it.

"Tell ya' what, man, I don't know where she came from, you sure got lucky when you found that one."

Jesus's slurred words brought Daryl out of his thoughts. Taking his eyes off Angel he focused on Jesus. He leaned on the counter, beer in one hand, clutching the lip of the countertop with the other.

"What's that mean?" Daryl asked, itching for a smoke.

"She's jus' hot," he said taking a drink from the can. Clearly it wasn't his first.

Daryl had put up with a lot of shit from Jesus over the years. Talking about Angel that way was his limit.

"Jesus, I'm gonna say this once," Daryl spoke calmly, a sharp edge to his words. "You don't say talk that way about her again. Ever. Got it?"

Jesus had known Daryl long enough to know when he wasn't messing around. Luckily, he wasn't too drunk to pick up on it. He put his hands up in defense. "Hey, don't worry. She ain't my type anyway. I just meant…" Jesus tried to explain, Daryl stopped him before he had the chance.

The hurt showing in Jesus's eyes had Daryl thinking maybe he took a drunk man's words a little too seriously. "It's okay. Don't worry 'bout it," Daryl said sheepishly.

Jesus's fuzzy eyes squinted up into a lazy smile. "You got it bad for her don't ya'?"

"Got it bad? For Angel? Na'."

He'd only known her for a short time but who was he kidding? He did, as Jesus put it, have it bad for Angel. He wasn't about to admit that to Jesus so he quickly changed the subject.

"Why don't you lay off that?" he said, eyeing the now empty can of beer on the counter.

"Always the Sheriff, ain't ya'?" Jesus answered with a strained laugh, cupping him on the shoulder before shuffling off, Daryl suspected, to find more alcohol. He watched Jesus sway over to the makeshift bar set up in a vintage buffet along the opposite wall in the living room.

He was thinking he'd have to keep watch on Jesus, make sure he wouldn't try to drive home in his condition when his eyes landed on Rick Grimes. His hip casually propped up on the back of the couch, he was talking to Jessie.

If Daryl wasn't mistaken, Jessie was doing her best to flirt. He heard her giggle over the crowd. Rick appeared to be enjoying her company, a sly smile playing on his bearded face. Jessie was a single mom to two boys. She divorced her husband a couple of years ago and they shared custody. More than once Jessie came into work in tears because of something he said or done even now, years after their divorce. Like so many other people in his life, Daryl felt protective over her.

_Always the Sheriff._

Ultimately it wasn't his business if Jessie flirted with a man Daryl didn't know and by default didn't trust. Just like it wasn't his business if Michonne's car was parked outside of Rick's house in the early morning hours. So he stayed where he was. Surveying the crowd. Mostly watching Angel.

. . .

As the evening went on, Jesus got more drunk. Jessie and Rick got cozier. Connie steered clear of him completely, probably not liking the fact that he came with Angel, and Carol left early not wanting to leave Sophia with a sitter for too long. Michonne was the perfect hostess talking to everyone, making sure they had a drink in their hand and pointing out the food spread out on the kitchen island.

Angel had separated herself away from the crowd a while ago. She stood by the tree, gazing at the pretty white lights. Her eyes were serious as though she was reflecting on something or someone from a long time ago. Her expression concerned him.

Leaving his post at the kitchen island, he joined her, clasping her hand in his. "You okay?" He asked.

She nodded but didn't speak. He didn't believe her.

"Wanna' leave?"

She nodded again, taking a shaky breath. They were almost to the door when Rosita, called Daryl's name. She was obviously a little tipsy on the arm of her boyfriend, Abraham. A big guy with a handlebar mustache. To look at them, you wouldn't pair them together. Rosita with her beautiful model looks and sharp mouth and Abraham with his military background and persistent seriousness. It was definitely a case of opposites attract.

Daryl, done with the party, ready to get Angel home, he stopped their retreat out the door. He introduced Angel to Abraham. He doubted Rosita remembered her from all those weeks ago. But she did. "I've been meaning to tell you but I haven't seen you in the diner lately. Two skeevy guys came in a week or so ago asking about you."

"Asking about Angel?" He looked at Angel. Her eyes grew big, she fidgeted with her hair, pushing it off her neck. Avoided his gaze.

"Uh huh. One guy, the more chatty one, had a mustache. Dark hair. The other was blonde. Had a scar on his face."

_Blonde hair and a scar? It had to be Dwight. _

"What'd they ask?" Daryl asked suddenly all business.

"Just if there was anyone new in town. A blonde specifically." Rosita grew uncomfortable under Daryl's scrutiny.

"You sure?"

Rosita looked to Abe for reassurance. He rolled a shoulder, nodded. He seemed as done with the party as Daryl was.

"Damn it," he mumbled under his breath. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Well, like I said I haven't seen you."

Daryl took a deliberate deep breath. "You're right, sorry. Can you remember anything else they said? Maybe where they came from?"

Rosita looked up as though she were deep in thought. "Nope. They couldn't leave fast enough if you ask me. They creeped me out."

Daryl pulled his phone from his pocket, brought up his email, specifically the pictures sent by Sherry's mother.

"Is this him?" He asked, showing one of the pictures of Sherry and Dwight to Rosita, sending Angel a quick dubious look. Her eyes were large with uncertainty. She didn't know he had those pictures. He should have told her but it was too late now.

Rosita tapped the screen with a long manicured fingernail. "Yep, that's him. I wonder what happened to his face."

. . .

So, there were people looking for Angel. This made Daryl inexplicably angry. It was time for Angel to be upfront with him. He managed to wait the few minutes it took to get back home. Once they were inside, he rounded on Angel.

"Who is looking for you?" He questioned with a little more force than he intended.

Angel removed her jacket and hung it on the hook next to the door. Her jacket, her shoes, her books. A blanket on the couch, because she was always chilly. There were little bits of her everywhere. She was so much a part of his life, yet he still knew very little. That fact needed to change, even if it upset her.

"Doesn't matter, they aren't here any longer."

"What?" He asked, frustration showing as he tossed his hat onto the couch, ran a hand through his hair. "Like hell it don't matter."

Angel sat on the sofa, shoulders slumped. He expected to see tears when she looked up at him, but her eyes were dry. "I really don't want to talk about this."

"To hell with that. You're gonna' tell me everything. Today. Right now."

"Why don't you tell me what you're doing with a picture of Dwight and Sherry?" She countered, surprising herself as well as Daryl.

"I was doing my job!"

"He was here looking for me. But he's not here anymore. They went back. The other man Rosita mentioned? His name is Simon."

"Are you in danger?" He should have found the answer to that question and many others long ago.

"I don't know."

Daryl stood in front of her, arms crossed across his chest. "You don't know?"

She stood up from the couch directly in front of him, not backing down. "No, I don't know. They came here to bring me back to The Sanctuary. I _wanted_ to go back," she said through clenched teeth. "But Dwight wouldn't let me, he made me promise I'd stay away."

"Wait… he made you promise? You mean to tell me you saw him? Talked to him? And you didn't tell me? Damn it, I'm tryin' to help you! You need to tell me everything," he all but demanded again. "And I mean everything, Angel." His voice rose with each word.

He thought she would retreat to the bathroom or the bedroom, locking him out of her life again. She didn't, though. She yelled at him instead. "You want to know everything, huh? Well how about, for starters, my name isn't Angel!"

. . .

Every Christmas Eve since Beth went missing, they lit a candle next to her picture that was propped up on the fireplace mantle in the family room. It might seem a bit melodramatic, but it was their way of including Beth in the holiday. It was the only picture Maggie had allowed herself to look at in five years. It hurt too much to look through family photo albums, the memories cutting like a knife. At their house in Atlanta, there weren't any pictures of her there either.

Beth's bright blue eyes stared back from the picture as Maggie lit the candle, Anna on her hip. Annette by her side. Glenn sat on the sofa with her father and little Hershel. Shawn sat on the floor leaning against the lazy boy, arm propped up on his girlfriend's leg. She rubbed her round belly, due in a few months with grandbaby number three. Maggie's first niece or nephew. They all watched and waited for Maggie and Annette to go through their yearly ritual.

Beth's thousand-watt smile was contagious. You could see the sadness in her eyes though. The picture was taken before her senior year of high school. Her hair was cut to her chin, a cut she had done herself.

Looking back on it, chopping her hair with kitchen sheers spontaneously one afternoon was a sign they should have heeded more closely. She was in tears by the time Annette got home and found her sitting on the bathroom floor among the long strands of her chopped hair. It was indeed a jagged mess. Annette hugged her daughter and swept up the mess and ook her the following day to get it evened out at the salon.

Maggie teased her. Of course, now, she felt like shit for the way she reacted. She couldn't help but wonder, they all couldn't help but wonder, maybe if they would have seen it for the warning sign it was, she would still be here with them. After she chopped her hair, things went downhill fast.

But here they were, years later, and Maggie would give anything to have her sister back with them.


	16. Fade Away

**So sorry for the delay. I really hope you enjoy this chapter. It's kind of an emotional roller coaster. **

**I have no idea why I'm writing about Christmas in September. lol But since he found her in early November (I think, I don't even remember my own story) that brings us to Christmas time and I couldn't really skip over it. **

**I was listening to I Found by Amber Run a lot while writing this if you'd like to take a listen too. **

**Thanks so much for reading! Don't forget to comment.**

**TW - Almost rape.**

* * *

Sherry was beginning to think the powder she put into Negan's drink wasn't going to work. They made it through dinner, which she dutifully ate, chewing every bite slowly. Taking up as much as she could, putting off what was inevitably to come after dinner. She listened as Negan droned on, adding her own comments that were the equivalent of "Whatever you say, Negan. Yes, I agree, Negan. '' She hated herself more as time went on.

Too soon dinner was done and he presented her with a gift bag. The shiny plastic bag was pink and frilly with white tissue paper poking out of the top. Pretending to be excited she took the bag from him, the tremor in her hands wasn't fake, though. She was terrified to find out what was inside.

"A gift for my wife," he proclaimed proudly.

He kept saying those words, _my wife, my wife, my wife_. It made her sick. He had no idea what that even meant. Wasn't capable of possibly knowing what it felt like to love someone other than himself.

From the bag, she pulled out a ball of white gauzy fabric. Holding it up by the spaghetti straps, the dress unwound itself from the ball. Short and see-through the negligee didn't leave much to the imagination.

Negan stood. Sherry's heart momentarily soared when he stumbled, catching himself by placing a hand on the table. He recovered quickly enough and stood straight before taking the nightgown from her. He pulled her up by the hand, pushing his body into hers. She smelled the sweat that was beaded across his forehead. The wine on his sour breath. Her stomach rolled again.

"You go put this on, sweetheart. I don't think I can wait any longer to consummate our union."

There was a promising slight slur of his speech and when she returned from the bathroom, the only indoor bathroom in the whole community, he was lying on his bed in the other room. Tip-toeing barefoot into the room, she leaned over him. His eyes were closed, he was breathing evenly. She was just about to turn around and make her exit when his eyes shot open. She stifled a scream when he clasped her by the wrist and pulled her down on top of him.

And then he was, unfortunately, all over her. Sloppily kissing her, leaving a trail of saliva from her mouth down to her neck. Rolling her underneath him, he pinned her down, pressing a knee hard and solid in between her legs. He mistook her groan of pain for a moan of lust and pressed harder.

"No! Stop Negan," Sherry finally yelled. She was unable to keep up the facade any longer. He lifted up on an elbow and sneered at her. Enjoying that she wanted him to stop.

Grasping at anything, she began fighting him off. Flailing about she pushed at him and tried to escape his weight, She kneed him, making contact with the fleshy area where the leg meets the groin. She was disappointed she missed his crotch but watching his smug righteous smile turn into a grimace of pain made her imminent death almost worth it.

Anger, so palpable it permeated the air. He was finally showing her who she suspected him of being. It was almost a relief to finally see it. She knew it was there just well hidden below the surface of a kind and caring cult leader. She didn't have long to dwell on it though, within seconds Negan grasped her wrists, pinning them down above her head with one hand. The other hand slid roughly down her body, grabbing her breast, then down to the tiny g-string that came with the ridiculous nighty, ripping it easily off her body.

Sherry bucked her body, using her legs, kicking wildly. Then without warning, Negan's body slumped, falling atop her. Instantly he began snoring. Frozen for a good five seconds before she finally shoved him, rolling him off of her. Free of him, she jumped to her feet, standing on the mattress. She gave him one last swift kick to the jaw, her barefoot making a satisfying smack sound against his face, then leaped off the bed.

. . .

"Well for starters my name isn't Angel!" Beth yelled back. Clamping her mouth shut with a hand once she realized what she said, she turned away from Daryl. "You don't want to know what really happened," she added quietly. If he knew the real story, she was afraid he'd kick her out. Drop her off at that woman's shelter. Be done with her. And she wouldn't blame him.

He grasped her by the elbow, forced her to face him. "What do you mean Angel isn't your name?"

Ignoring him, she continued to yell, more at herself than him. "What kind of person gets involved with a cult anyway? Huh?" She asked. "A stupid gullible person, that's who."

"Angel stop…" he couldn't stand her speaking that way about herself. "Everyone messes up, gets caught up in the wrong things sometimes for all different reasons."

"Messes up?" She laughed cruelly, without humor. "That's an understatement." Her voice quieted, achingly defeated. "I left everyone at The Sanctuary just like I left my _real_ family."

"You remember?" He asked.

She shook her head. "No, no I don't. I just have this feeling. This heaviness… an emptiness." She balled a fist, held it to her chest. "Right here. Can you imagine how much hurt I probably caused? Normal people don't go around hurting people they care about like that."

Daryl reached out and pulled her to his chest expecting her to pull away but she didn't. She clung to his shirt, buried her face in his chest.

"I'm a horrible person," her voice muffled against him.

"Fuck that. You're not a horrible person," he said adamantly. "You hear me? I've come across a lot of bad people in my life and you ain't one of 'em."

He held her tight until he felt the stiff anger leave her body. "Angel," he said quietly, waiting until she lifted her head. "What's your real name?" He asked with a slight smile.

She pressed her lips together, taking her time with the words. Once she spoke her name, there was no taking it back.

"Beth. My real name is Beth," she peered up at him with uncertain eyes.

Releasing her waist, Daryl touched her chin, clasping it with a thumb and forefinger. "Beth," he said trying out the name for himself. "I like that better 'n Angel. It suits you."

And because it seemed like the right thing to do, he lowered his head to hers, pressing their lips together. Sinking into the kiss, he slipped his tongue into her mouth to dance with his. His hand drifted down over her shoulder, grazing lightly over the mound of her breast, down to rest on her hip pulling her into him.

He spoke through the kiss, his words landing on her lips, "I want to know all there is to know about you. Everything."

"I _want_ you to know."

Breaking the kiss, she stepped out of his grasp. Just when he thought he'd spooked her, she reached for the hem of her sweater, pulled it up over her head, revealing herself to him. "But this is all I can offer right now."

Now he was the one to be spooked.

Skin perfect and glowing in the low light. Smooth, begging to be touched. "Angel...I mean Beth," he stammered. It was going to take some getting used to calling her by a whole new name after calling her Angel all this time. "What do you mean? All you have to offer?"

Beth closed the space between them. Placing her hands on his broad chest, she tilted her head up to him. "I don't want to go back to The Sanctuary. I miss the people there. I feel bad for leaving them. But I want to be here with you."

She rose up on her toes, lightly kissed him, began loosening the top button of his shirt.

"You can stay as long as you need, but you don't have to do anything with me you don't wanna' do."

She sent him a sexy sly smile, continued to work at the buttons.

Stalling her hands by clasping them in his own, he said, "I'm not sure about this."

He was trying to reason with her, trying to stop her from doing something she might regret. But who the hell was he kidding? He wanted this. Wanted _her_.

"Daryl, I'm tired of being afraid and uncertain. Unsure of the future. Unsure of the past. I'm so damn tired of _thinking_. I just want the now. The present. I just want to be with you."

He pressed a hand to her cheek and she leaned into it, kissing his open palm. He felt that kiss spark through his entire body, from his toes to his head. He kissed her again, closing his eyes, plunging deeper, taking in every little bit of her he could. The scent of her shampoo, the sweet taste of her mouth, the moan that vibrated from her throat. Her breasts brushed against his chest and all he could think was what it'd feel like to have her bare skin against his.

He continued to ravish her mouth as he walked her backward, around the sofa, down the short hallway, and into the bedroom. Along the way, she finished unbuttoning his shirt tossing it aside.

So many thoughts ran through his mind cautioning him to stop. Some might say he's in a position of authority over her and that may sway her decision making. She'd been through a trauma, no doubt there. He was her lifeline in a lot of ways. In some sort of twisted way, she might think she owes him this.

But she said she wanted this. There didn't seem to be any doubt in her words.

He's a sheriff, before that he was a soldier. Positions that took plenty of self-control and discipline. Maybe just this once he could take off the sheriff's badge and be a normal person. Just be a man falling in love with a woman he hardly knows.

As he laid her onto the bed, covering her with his body, all that mattered to him was Beth and the way she felt underneath him. Small but not fragile. Wanting this as much as he did. The way her hands felt tangling in his hair, fluttering down his back, the way her leg draped over the back of his. It all felt right, so how could it be wrong?

He momentarily froze when her hands went to unfasten the snap of his jeans. He'd been in this position before but this felt worlds different. Beth was different. He was different around her. In that aspect, it all felt new. Every touch, every kiss, every moan.

When she unbuttoned his jeans, reached in and clasped her hand over his hardening dick, all coherent thought, and the annoying worry that came with it, dissipated.

Leaning up on his knees, he shimmied Beth out of her jeans and watched as she hooked her fingers through the band of her underwear and slipped them over her hips, down her legs and kicked them off with her foot. She wasn't in the least bit shy. Reaching behind her back she released the clasp of her practicable white bra, throwing it to the side.

His knees indented the mattress, one on the outside of her leg, one in between, basking in her body. Her face flushed with, what he hoped to be, want.

He brushed a hand along her small waist, down the swell of her hip. Her breasts small, yet perfect, pink hardened nipples begged for his tongue. Bending at the waist, he kissed just above her mound, her breath catching as he worked his way around her belly button, up her abdomen to finally suck at each nipple until she moaned with desire. Her hands raked through his hair, over his shoulders, nails slightly digging into his skin, just like in his dream. She eventually pulled him back up to her mouth, pressing her lips to his with fervor.

Before things went too far, he tenderly leaned his brow against hers and asked, "Ya' sure 'bout this?"

Beth closed her eyes, sighing, she smiled sweetly. For an answer she pressed her body closer to his, wound her legs tightly around his hips, lining herself up with him.

He slid into her easily, so slick, so warm. No tension, no resistance.

The chaos of the world faded away and all that remained were the two of them. His past didn't matter, her past, that she couldn't remember anyway, didn't matter. There was nothing left, nothing that mattered except each other.

. . .

"_Ya' sure 'bout this?"_

She'd never been so sure about anything in all of her limited past. Everything was so uncertain, but this, _this_, felt more right and more real than anything she'd experienced so far. She'd been free-floating up until now. Up until she found Daryl. Or, rather, until he found her.

The all-encompassing feeling of Daryl moving inside her, of his body over hers, it was almost too much. It felt too good - if that was possible. Her skin burned with desire, with heat.

She couldn't be sure who she'd had sex with before. She'd been abstinent while at The Sanctuary. She'd shut off that part of her mind, ignored it when her body ached for someone else's touch. Now all those years of suppression came to the surface and threatened to overflow. As Daryl increased the speed of his movements, fully exiting before entering her again, she raised her hips over and over to match him.

When he rested on one elbow, leaving the opposite hand free to reach in between their bodies, she stilled when his fingers found her swollen clit.

"What?" Daryl said in a near panic, stopping mid-thrust. "Is this okay?"

Was it okay? _If it feels too good, no matter what it is, you're blatantly sinning._ Negan was still in her head. It angered her. Determinedly she pushed him away and focused on Daryl and how he was making her feel.

"Yes, it's fine. Keep going," she said thankful for the muted darkness. Her eagerness for him almost embarrassed her.

Calloused fingers making small circles on her clit, his dick, thick and hard, buried itself deep within her over and over again. His lips teased the junction of her neck and shoulder. Every cell in her body screamed for release.

Her breath came faster, her eyes focused on Daryl's, almost black in the darkness, grasping a hold of his shoulders trying to find some sort of bearing, afraid she might float away. When release finally shuddered through her body she moaned his name.

_Daryl._

Things went fuzzy after that. She vaguely remembers her orgasm pulsing tightly around Daryl's cock, going on for what felt like minutes. He continued to draw out every last ounce of pleasure he could.

When her body had been drained, he burrowed his face into her neck. On a shaky breath, he whispered, "You feel… you feel so good. So right. Fuck. So wet."

Finally and all too soon, he slid out of her and she grasped his cock, slick with herself. Pumped him once, twice and on the third time, he came over her hand onto her stomach.

. . .

. . .

Michonne wished she was happier to open her eyes on this Christmas morning. But it was a struggle to find happiness this year. Mike was up and probably already done his morning work out and was eating his bowl of plain rolled oats. He was at least predictable. But once would it kill him to stay in bed a little longer? It was Christmas morning after all.

She sighed, pulled the pillow over her head hoping to sleep a little bit longer. Worries kept bouncing around in her mind though.

So Mike was a dick sometimes. They fought. A lot. He at least apologized. Kind of. In that condensing way of his. He always bought her flowers to solidify that their "disagreement" was over whether anything was settled or not. While her forgiveness couldn't be bought, she appreciated the gesture.

She knew the warning signs of an abusive relationship, she was a cop. Saw it first hand regularly. He hadn't laid a hand in her since they'd gotten back together. Maybe because Daryl went all mountain man on Mike and threatened to bury him where no one would ever find him if he ever laid a hand on her again. Or maybe it was because he actually changed.

Mike had a good job. He had goals. He said he wanted to get married one day. Have kids. It's what she wanted too. Her mother did her best, but she struggled being a single mother, so the idea of motherhood was not something Michonne took lightly.

She took the pillow off her head and flung it across the room in frustration. She sat up and looked outside the windows facing the ravine. The slate grey sky looked like it might open up and pour at any minute. The trees blew back and forth, the wind a muffled far off noise. It looked cold. The perfect morning to snuggle in bed with your loved one.

Her mind, as it always did, went to Rick.

What was he doing this Christmas morning? Was he with Jessie? They were getting pretty cozy at the party. Jealousy burned in her belly. She had no reason to be jealous. What she should feel is shame. Shame for the way she's been behaving.

. . .

Christmas was hard on Maggie. It didn't take a genius to figure that out. She preferred to not talk about her feelings about Beth and how her disappearance impacted her. He knew she spoke to Annette about it. He'd walked in on them whispering numerous times. The whispering would cease the second they noticed him. He could let it bother him, her refusal to talk to him, her husband, but now years later, he was just happy she talked to _someone_ about it. And who knew better about what Maggie might be feeling than her own mother.

Maggie was strong. She got through her own grief by focusing on the kids and making sure they had as perfect a Christmas as was possible. And they did. Spoiled rotten by them as well as both grandparents. He knew watching them tear into their presents Christmas morning would be one of the fondest memories he'd have as an old man.

They spent Christmas Eve morning with his parents in Atlanta then Christmas Eve afternoon with the Greene's. Afternoon inevitably led to evening and they always wound up getting home late but it was important to both him and Maggie that the kids wake up in their own home Christmas morning.

Truthfully they were all exhausted by Christmas night. The kids would be crashing from two straight days of sugar and sweets and being spoiled along with all the chaos and excitement that came with Christmas.

Anna really still didn't quite grasp it. She understood presents and enjoyed that part but everything else she was reluctant about. She was shy and usually stayed close to her parents when they were with other people, even family.

Maggie remarked once Beth was the same way. Maggie was six years the elder sister and remembered vividly from the day they brought Beth home from the hospital after being born. Beth had been shy until she was about five then practically overnight she burst into this little ball of giggles and energy. Glenn wasn't really worried about Anna's shyness but took comfort that maybe she took after her aunt and would one day come out of her shell.

As though she knew her father was thinking about her Anna sprang up from the floor that was covered with wrapping paper and discarded gift bags and tissue paper from their early morning Christmas celebration and ran for him. He was sitting on the couch with Maggie, watching her and Hershel play with their new gifts. She climbed up on his lap, leaning back against his shoulder she sighed a little sigh.

"Did you have a good Christmas, Anna," he asked. She shook her head up and down vigorously.

"Dad! Someone forgot a present!" Hershel said loudly, pulling a small square package from the branches of the tree.

"Oh, Santa must have put it there. Silly old guy," Glenn teased. "Who does it say its to?"

Hershel flipped the tag over and sounded out the name. "It says Maggie. It's for you Mama," Hershel said just as excited as if it were a present for him. He was such a good boy with a good heart. Just as excited to give as to receive.

Scooting onto the couch between his parents, he handed Magie the box. "Open it up!"

"Glenn," she lectured, trying for a stern face and failing miserably. "We agreed to not buy anything for each other this year." They were saving up to take a vacation, just the two of them, in the spring.

"It's not from me," he smiled. "It says right there it's from Santa," he pointed at the tag.

"You lie!" She said, swatting his shoulder with her free hand.

"Owe!" Glenn joked.

"Mama says don't hit," Anna proclaimed, smiling. Happy to play along.

"You're right Anna," she said, leaning in to place a kiss on the top of her daughter's head.

When she sat back up Glenn saw the glistening in her eyes. They were happy tears though. Grateful tears.

"Are you gonna open it or wait till next Christmas?" He asked.

"Okay already!" She laughed tearing off the wrapping paper and opening the black box.

A gold locket sat atop the velvet lining. "Glenn," Maggie sighed. "If you make me cry...I swear," she let that sentence drop and ran a finger over the tiny delicate engravings of flowers and swirls.

"Open it," he instructed. She looked up to see three sets of eyes staring at her expectantly.

She took the locket out of the box, the chain dangling from her fingers. Carefully she opened it. Expecting to see a picture of Anna on one side and Hershel on the other, she was pleasantly surprised to see a picture of herself as a baby and … not Glenn. The other tiny photo was of Beth as a baby.

Instant tears sprang from her eyes and she was speechless. Too overcome with emotion to speak.

. . .

As the first light of day shown through the curtains, the sun coming just over the mountain, Beth and Daryl laid together in his bed. Her back to his front, his arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her body close. He couldn't see her face but knew she was awake. He placed a soft kiss on her temple. Voice gravel, and smoke, he whispered, "Merry Christmas, Beth."

* * *

**Gah! I will always love and miss Glenn. :( **

**Thanks for reading! **


	17. Heartbeat

**This chapter is a bit long for me, hope you all still like it. Again the spell check is not working correctly. I think I fixed everything then go back and it didn't save for whatever**** reason. I tried really hard to fix everything.  
Thanks for reading.**

* * *

To say Daryl had an extra spring in his step was an understatement. He always greeted anyone he came across, even if it was just a nod of the head, but now, he was a bit quicker to smile, a little quicker to laugh. He was annoying himself with his good mood. He couldn't help it. Christmas had ended up being much better than he expected.

Spending the day in bed with Beth had been, well, amazing, for lack of a better word. Words weren't his strong suit anyway. But damn, it was fucking amazing. They surfaced only long enough to grab a snack and a quick shower...together, then retreated to the bedroom for the rest of the day.

He didn't ask her anything more about her past. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was only having sex with her to get more information. The stakes are much higher now, _feelings_ are involved. Deep feelings that he'd never experienced or expected.

He wasn't one to read too much into things or even believe in such things, but maybe finding her was supposed to happen, like kismet or some dumb shit like that. She fit in his life so completely he honestly couldn't imagine it without her. Didn't want to. He couldn't help but wonder what if Michonne was the one to find her instead of him? What if Beth was spooked and ran from him? What if he never found her? He didn't want to think of that.

Leaving Beth at home for the rest of the week was difficult, he still had a job to do. Each morning, ready for work, he'd lean over her snuggled down under the quilt. Nuzzle her warm neck until she mumbled inaudible words.

"Gotta' go. I'll be back later."

She moaned and suddenly awake, she'd grasp him around the neck, pulling him down to her, wrapping her legs around his hips. She was surprisingly strong.

"You gotta?" She'd whispered in the dark.

"I'd rather stay here with you, but yeah, I gotta."

"Well, I'll be here when you get back, how 'bout that?" Her words said one thing, her hands were saying something different as they drifted down his abdomen and below his belt buckle.

"Mmm, Beth." He loved saying her name now that he knew what it really was, "What are you doing?"

"Oh, nothing," she retorted with faked innocence, unzipping the fly of his jeans, slipping her hand inside.

What they couldn't communicate with words they seemed to make up in action and he'd yet be successful in turning her down. Not that he'd really wanted or tried to.

"I'm gonna be late," he protested weakly.

"We better be quick then."

He chuckled and easily gave in to her, pulling the t-shirt, one of his, over her head. Her body was warm and pliable, instantly molding into his. Lacing his fingers with hers, he sank into her. She shivered as his free hand skimmed down her ribs.

Wriggling out from underneath him, she climbed on top, straddling his hips. Unbuckling his belt, she relieved him of his jeans and quickly impaled herself on his cock. No time to take off his pants completely.

She started slow and quickly built speed. It baffled him how she was always ready. She didn't play any games, didn't play hard to get. She wanted him and made no qualms about it. She might have been shy and quiet around others but with him, while they were alone she came alive.

He got the most enjoyment of watching her, bringing her to orgasm. The way she'd moan, the way her body stiffened, tightening around his cock, and then the way she'd melt into him after.

That's pretty much how every morning went in one way or another and he wasn't complaining about it at all. Afterward, he'd kiss her, untangle himself from her and the blankets and leave for the day.

She'd come into town later in the day. Together they'd head back home when Daryl was done with his shift. Luckily things had been pretty calm at work, nothing that required him to spend much extra time away from Beth. A family dispute. A drunk driver, not Jesus thankfully. A few other small infractions as well as, most interestingly, a report of an abandoned car on the road that led out of town and up the mountain.

Cars left unattended didn't last long, someone, not the owner, would inevitably come along and strip it down to the wheel wells. Daryl or Miconne or one of the part-time guys did their best to find the owner.

It was an older model Ford Explorer. Burgundy in color and covered in mud as though it made many trips up and down the mountain road. The doors weren't locked and inside the car, the upholstery was torn and the back seat was littered with water bottles, soda cans, a blanket as well as empty junk food wrappers wadded up and thrown on the floor. In the rear of the vehicle, there was an empty can of gas. In the glove box, filled with paper napkins and wadded up random receipts and other trash, he found the registration. It said the car belonged to a Negan Smith.

If that name didn't sound made up...

He hadn't heard the name before, but his sheriff scenes sparked. He knew everyone up on the mountain and none of them went by the name Negan or Smith. Running the plate, the address in the system was listed in a town a couple of hours away. A quick search on the internet told him the house no longer belonged to Negan Smith. Hadn't in years. The registration itself lapsed as many years ago. The phone number listed went, unsurprisingly, unanswered until an automated voice came on saying the number had been disconnected. Negan Smith himself was squeaky clean. Not so much as a parking ticket before he disappeared off the radar.

The car was parked haphazardly off the side of the road, going in the direction of town. The keys were still in the ignition but it had apparently run out of gas. Something told him it wasn't just a car that had been abandoned.

"It could mean nothin'," he told Michonne back at the station after he filled her in on the car. He called the local tow company to go pick it up and tow it back to the station.

"Uh huh," Michonne agreed, she leaned back in her chair, thinking. "You're thinking it has something to do with Angel?" She guessed correctly.

"Could be." Daryl pushed out a breath, leaned forward, forearms resting on the desk. "Her name is Beth, by the way."

"Huh?" Michonne asked.

"Her real name is Beth." His steely blue eyes met hers purposefully. Saying it to someone else made it more real.

"What the hell?" Michonne questioned, no doubt she was surprised. "Why'd she lie?"

"I don't think she lied. Not at first. I think she honestly didn't remember until..."

At what point had she remembered? He couldn't be sure. He could ask her, but things were so good he didn't want to mess it up. Tip-toeing around it won't get things figured out either.

"Listen, I know you really like her," Michonne began. "I like her too."

Daryl bristled. There was more to what he felt for her than 'like' and Michonne didn't 'like' her the way he did.

"Just cause we like her, doesn't mean anything. I don't think she's being maliciously deceptive, but she could be hiding something big. I just want you to be careful."

Michonne meant well, still, it irritated him that she would think that way of Beth. Part of him knew she was just being a good friend. A good cop, questioning all angles. The other part of him was overly protective of Beth. "Ain't nothing I can't handle."

"I don't think you're seeing this clearly. Maybe she doesn't remember, all I'm saying is if she wasn't fully honest about her name, what else might she be hiding?"

Overreacting, he snapped. "And what 'bout you? What are you hiding?"

Michonne leaned back in her chair, rose an eyebrow, more curious than offended. She didn't dignify his outburst with a reply and the seconds ticked by in a standoff.

He hadn't meant to blurt it out like that. He obviously became too defensive too quickly. The way he figured it Beth had only one person on her side and that was him. Not that Michonne or anyone else disliked her but they didn't know her as he did.

But did he really know her?

Jessie broke the silence coming in from the front room. She paused for a second, reading the uneasy mood on the air. "Umm, sorry to interrupt. But we just got a call from the Dale Horvath." Those that didn't consider their problem an emergency would often call the front desk at the station, leaving a message with Jessie who would relay it to Michonne or Daryl. "His truck was stolen last night."

Michonne and Daryl looked at Jessie, then each other.

"Let's go," Daryl said and they were both on their feet and out the door before Jessie had a chance to give them details.

. . .

"It was here last night before I went to bed. Came out this morning to get the paper and it was gone. Dumb of me, really. I kept the keys in it. That way I don't have to worry about losing them." Dale laughed at himself.

Dale's house wasn't that far from the road that led up the mountain. There were closer houses, Dales was the closest to the main road, and he always parked his truck along the street, not in the driveway. Easy target. Especially with the keys in it.

"And you didn't see or hear anything?" Michonne asked.

"'fraid not. Sorry. You all didn't have to come over, I could have just left the information with Jessie. It wasn't worth anything. I doubt the insurance will even cover it."

"Well, thanks for the information. Be sure to call them to report it to your insurance company."

Saying their goodbyes they walked back to the Bronco parked at the curb. "What do you think?" Michonne asked.

Behind the wheel, Daryl thought a moment, cranked the engine to life. "I think it's strange that there's a car stolen the same day we find one abandoned."

"I was thinking the same thing," Michonne said, clicking her seatbelt in place.

"Could be nothing. Someone ran out of gas, stole another car to get where they're going."

"Yep. Or just some kids from decided to take it joyriding." Michonne agreed.

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes, thinking their own thoughts about the missing and abandoned car.

. . .

Michonne's words weighed heavily on him. What if, as Michonne said, Beth was hiding something else, something bigger. He also had this nagging feeling about the abandoned car and stolen truck. They put out an all-points bulletin on the stolen truck - to which he wasn't holding out much hope, and the last he checked, no one reported the car stolen.

Not to mention, the psychologist finally called back. He had a cancellation and could fit Beth in the next day. She didn't take the news well. Daryl tried explaining that her amnesia was out of his realm of abilities to help her with. He'd be lying if he said it didn't make him nervous too. Regaining her memory would be good, but _if_ she did where would that leave them?

He and Beth were driving back home from work, Beth silent, probably worrying about the appointment when Merle's number flashed on the screen of his phone. Strange. He never calls. Daryl was always the one to call him. Service was spotty up there and Merle had to walk to the end of their driveway to make a call.

Merle didn't sound like himself. He sounded softer, his voices peaked was something he couldn't quite read.

Beth listened as Daryl spoke with Merle. She could hear Merle's voice over the speaker, it was muffled and she wasn't sure what he said. Something about Andrea being in labor. When Daryl got off the phone, he said Andrea was having a rough go of it.

"Rough go of it? What does that mean? Should they go to the hospital?" Beth questioned

"She refuses. She doesn't know he called me. He's worried. Says none of the other births have lasted this long."

"How long it's been?"

"Three-ish days."

"Three days?" Beth asked loudly.

"Is that a long time? Sure as hell sounds like a long time," Daryl commented.

"Well, it depends. Are her contractions close together? Has her water broke?"

Daryl eyed with a _how the hell should I know_ look.

"I'll drop you off at home then I'm gonna' head up there. I won't be of any help but he called me. I think he wants me there. He couldn't just say that of course."

"I'm coming with you."

"What? No, Beth. You don't need to involve yourself in this."

She reached over and grasped his arm, squeezed. "I'm coming with you."

. . .

It was slow going. The road was a mess and almost impassable in more than a few places. It was the main reason Daryl usually only saw his brother during the warmer months. He only came up here if he absolutely had to and barring an emergency he never did.

Beth wondered aloud more than once if they would make it. She willed the truck over the bumpy terrain. When they finally pulled up the driveway the windows of the A-frame were dark. It was late. All the kids were probably asleep. Only one light towards the back of the house burned low.

"Where's your medical kit?" Beth asked before they exited the truck. "You have to have at least a basic one."

Confused, he nodded. "Behind your seat."

She grabbed it and beat him to the door where Merle met them.

"Y'all didn't have to come up," Merle said sheepishly but he looked relieved. "She's had all the babies at home without so much as a whimper. Hell, Garrison was born while I was out hunting. Came home and she done had the baby while I was gone. This one seems different."

"It's okay Merle," Beth comforted. "Is she in the back?" She asked, taking off down the hall before Merle had a chance to answer.

Daryl followed behind Beth and Merle, dumbfounded. Beth had gone from shy and quiet to swooping in and helping a person that was in labor she met only once before.

She was already by Andrea's side when they filed into the small bedroom. The bed was pushed longways up against one wall. The room was close. Stuffy. A slight scent of fear permeated the air.

Andrea looked worse for wear. She leaned against the wall, her legs under a sheet. Damp hair hung around her pale face. Her huge belly pushed tightly against the ragged green nightshirt she wore.

She panted as she spoke. "Damn it, Merle. Why don't you invite the whole damn town to watch me give birth?" She peered more kindly at Beth though. "Girl, this shit has been goin' on for days. I'm getting tired."

Merle joined Andrea at the bed. Even though she just yelled at him, she grasped his arm and he put his other arm around her shoulders. They gave each other a hard time, got in some knock-out, drag-out fights, including one time when she pulled a knife on him. Ultimately they loved each other. It showed in moments like this. Or in the occasional brush of the arm as they passed one another. Or the way they dealt with all the kids like a seamless well-oiled machine. Just doing what needed to be done next.

Could he have that? Could he have that with Beth, Daryl wondered.

Entering the room, Beth kneeled at the bed next to Andrea and Merle. "I know you're tired," she cooed gently, "Has your water broke?"

Andrea shook her head no. "How about your contractions? How often are they coming?"

"'About on top of each other. But it's been like that for a while." As if on cue, her head hung low and she grasped Merle's arm hard enough to turn the skin of his arm red where her fingers dug in. It seemed to drag on forever.

When the wave of pain finally let up, Beth asked, "Have you felt the baby move?"

Andrea nodded, still panting through her teeth. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, she looked absolutely exhausted. "But not as much in the last couple hours."

"Perfectly normal if you are as far into labor as I think you are," she said calmly, then to herself she mumbled, "What I wouldn't give for a doppler."

Andrea, closing her eyes, allowing her head lull to the side to lean on Merle's shoulder. "There's one in the kit."

"There is?" This excited Beth.

Andrea pointed to a box on the floor in the corner of the room. After rummaging around, she pulled out a white square thing with what looked like a microphone attached to it. Andrea scooted down, pulling her shirt up over her swollen stomach, the sheet still covering her lap. Beth switched it on and it made a loud static sound until she placed it to Andrea's stomach. Moving it around, she found the drumming of a heartbeat.

She smiled at Andrea, "Nice and strong."

The smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Beth moved to sit on the bed, opened the medical kit. "I got to check you for dilation. Is that okay?" She asked as she put on a pair of latex gloves.

"Yeah, you a doctor or something?" Andrea asked.

She smiled kindly, "Not quite."

Daryl was beginning to wonder the same thing. She seemed to know exactly what she was doing. He stepped out of the room before Beth moved the sheet back that was covering Andrea's legs. He was decidedly uncomfortable and could almost _feel_ Andrea's pained moans but he was determined to be there for his brother and Andrea. For Beth too, though she didn't seem to need him. She was handling this just fine.

"If something happens to Andrea or the baby I don't know what I'll do," Merle mumbled from behind him in a rare moment of vulnerability. "I shoulda' took her to the hospital sooner. She's so stubborn. Wouldn't hear of it." He looked small in the darkened hallway, not the tough, bigger than life brother he always had been.

"It's gonna' be okay," Daryl lied. He had no idea if it was going to be okay. Andrea should be in a hospital but he knew that's not how people did things up here and even down in the town. He grasped his brother's shoulder, squeezed. "Everything's gonna' be okay. Remember how Mama used to tell that story about how it took you days to be born. This kid is just takin' after you."

Merle nodded, Daryl wasn't sure he was actually listening or not.

"Merle," Andrea groaned from the bedroom and he returned to her side. Daryl followed and stood uncomfortably at the door once more.

"You're almost there," Beth told her, removing the gloves. "But," Beth moved to the side of the bed, began feeling around the huge mound of Andrea's belly.

_What the hell is she doing?_ He wondered.

"But what?" Andrea asked, panic edging her voice.

"But your baby is breech," Beth said, self-composed, in control.

"Breech? What the fuck that mean?" Merle echoed Daryl's own thoughts.

"It means the baby is coming ass first," Andrea less than eloquently explained. And then she doubled over in pain. Daryl took a step forward intent on helping but Beth had it under control. She remained calm, rubbing Andrea's belly, talking just above her groans.

"It's okay, it'll pass soon. Try to breathe. That's it. In and out." She listened to the heartbeat again with the doppler.

"Babies are supposed ta' come head first! Is the baby in danger? Can it still be born here?" Merle asked once the contraction passed.

"It's too late to try to go anywhere else, we have to deliver here," Beth said putting on a fresh pair of gloves, bypassing Merle's first question wondering if the baby was in danger. "Daryl, in the box you'll find a package of underpads, grab it for me. Open it up," she instructed.

_Fuck_. _Underpads?_ Well, there was no way of getting out of this now, he had to enter the room. Luckily the bed faced away from his view and thanks to the nightshirt and a strategically placed sheet, he was able to avoid seeing anything one shouldn't see of their sister in law. He rummaged around in the box unable to identify most of what was in there. He must have been taking too long because Beth said his name.

"Daryl? They'll look like puppy training pads."

He knew what those were at least. He ripped open the plastic package they were in and handed it to Beth. She looked up at him and smiled briefly before focusing back on Andrea. He returned to his safe spot by the door.

"People deliver breech all the time. It sometimes can be a bit trickier. It's too late to try to get the baby to flip."

_Flip_? Daryl was beginning to feel lightheaded.

After a moment of fiddling with the pads and a couple more contractions that had Andrea crying out more each time, Beth declared - her voice a pitch higher than normal, not scared, excited, maybe? Charged by the moment, that was for sure. "I can see the baby. You ready to push, Andrea?"

"'Bout damn time," Andrea grunted.

Daryl didn't want to look, but he felt compelled to. Beth was now on the bed, kneeling in front of Andrea. Merle was holding Andrea up with an arm stretched across her upper back. Andrea held a fixed stare of concentration as she held her knees back and let out a guttural primal cry.

. . .

It didn't take as long as he expected, even though he had no experience in how long it took to birth a baby. Before he knew it, Andrea's grunts ceased and the room became silent. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Their focus on the baby on the pad Beth had spread out on the mattress.

"I'll be damned, still in the sack," Merle said with wonder, leaning forward, his arm still securely around Andrea's back.

_The sac?_ The baby appeared to be in a murky fluid-filled bubble. This was proving to be a learning experience Daryl wasn't sure he wanted to have, not until he had his own children anyway.

"Quick, hand me a couple of those towels and the suction bulb from the box," Beth demanded.

Daryl grabbed a couple of freshly laundered folded towels and baby blankets on the dresser and in the box found a round suction tool he hoped was what she meant by 'suction bulb' and handed them to Beth. She quickly spread out the towels. This time Daryl didn't retreat back, he stood next to his brother, a hand of solidarity on his shoulder. Watched as Beth pinched the flimsy membrane surrounding the baby and the water once inside gushed. She quickly wrapped a towel around the baby. Using the bulb syringe, she suctioned the baby's nose and mouth. The baby lay there on the towel still as can be. Beth wasn't deterred and began wiping the baby down, rubbing its chest vigorously.

Time moved at a snail's pace and finally, which in actuality had only been seconds, the baby let out a shrill cry. Andrea and Merle simultaneously let out a whoop of laughter, leaning against one another. Daryl was filled with relief.

Beth wrapped the baby in a baby blanket with tiny elephants on it and handed it off to Andrea who eagerly took it into her arms.

"Born breech and in the caul. She's extra special," Beth told them, emotion heavy in her voice, tears in her eyes.

"She?" Andrea questioned? "Thank God!" She laughed and looked at Merle who kissed her tenderly. He'd never seen his brother like this before. Speechless, grateful and enamored with his tiny baby girl.

And then there was Beth. It was that in that crazy moment, regardless of all he didn't know... where she came from, where she's been, what happened to make her run, how she knew how to deliver a damn baby, Daryl knew he loved her. It slammed into him like a back spinning kick to the chest.

He had no idea what it meant to love someone like this. Sure, he loved his brother, he supposed. He distinctly remembered loving his mother with all his little boy's heart. This, what he felt for Beth, was nowhere near the same kind of love. Up until this point, he had no idea there were different types of love. It never occurred to him.

He'd question what all this meant later; right now he'd ride this wave, hanging on for dear life.

. . .

This would no doubt bring up a myriad of questions. Slowly her secrets were seeping out one by one. First her name. Now this.

After the birth, Daryl looked at her with wide-eyed wonder. Not that she minded. He could look at her with his eyes crossed and she'd still get goosebumps. Most of the time, though, he'd look at her with such serious intensity it'd snatch her breath from her lungs. Quite literally, she'd forget to breathe for a second or two.

She studied him in the dark on their way back home. His profile, all angles, and sharp edges, ruggedly handsome. He was a deep thinker which surprised her at first, though she wasn't sure why. Negan pretended to be a deep thinker when in reality he was a narcissistic psychopath and only thought about himself. How could she trust herself to think she knows a damn thing about Daryl Dixon?

By the time they got back to town, it was almost daylight. Christmas lights still winked in the dark as they drove past the sporadic houses that lined the back roads that led home. Just as pretty as before Christmas but lacking the excitement and anticipation they held before Christmas.

The evening had taken an interesting turn. She was glad she was able to help Andrea, but Beth was sure she would have done just fine without her assistance. She was relieved that it all ended well and she was able to leave Andrea exhausted but happy and healthy along with baby snuggled in bed.

Once home, instead of going into the house, she sat on the tiny porch leaning against the banister. The cold air felt good, refreshing. Her head buzzed but not unpleasantly.

Daryl eyed her curiously and sat down the opposite side of the porch, picking at the peeling paint below his boot. After some time, he mumbled, "Thank you." Peering at her out of the tops of his eyes, shadowed in the neighbors' yard light.

"I didn't do anything, Andrea did all the work. I just caught the baby."

"But what you did, it was incredible. I gotta' ask, how the hell did you know what to do?"

She sat for the longest time, contemplating her intertwined fingers, as though they had all the answers. Finally, she spoke. "We lived up on the mountain too, just like Andrea and Merle there were no close hospitals," she replied, simplifying how things were. "There were lots of babies born at The Sanctuary."

"And _you_ had to deliver them?"

"Another woman served as a midwife, I just helped."

"You did more than help," he said. Leaning forward, inches from her face. Her lips parted in anticipation, her breath puffed out in the icy air. "You did a lot more than help tonight." Gently, lighting each nerve afire, he pressed his lips to hers, it was one of those moments that the breath escaped her lungs.

. . .

"Ya nervous?" Daryl questioned.

Beth, looking straight out of the Bronco's windshield shook her head, said a quiet, "No."

That was a lie. She was nervous. But she had agreed to go the psychologist and she couldn't think of a graceful way out of it, so they were on their way to Atalanta. The doctor's secretary had called and said they had a cancellation for the Monday after Christmas.

After their late night delivering a baby of all things, they'd retreated back home and to their bed where they made love for the next couple of hours. She spent a restless thirty minutes trying to sleep before she gave up and took a shower, readying herself for the appointment. She was still floating on cloud nine from the birth, the lost sleep was well worth it.

Beth told Daryl he could wait outside in the truck if he preferred, he insisted on going into the small office with her. He said he had already spoken with the doctor and according to him he seemed like a good guy. For what it was worth, Daryl's "okay" calmed her nerves considerably.

They waited only a short time in the small waiting area before the doctor himself came out and shook Daryl's hand, reassuring him that Beth would only be a room away and he had nothing to worry about. Beth couldn't help but smile, Daryl her knight in shining flannel.

Once they were inside his office, Daryl left behind in the waiting room, the doctor motioned towards the couch. "Well, Angel, it's nice to meet you."

Beth had one stipulation about going to the psychologist, she asked that they not tell the doctor her real name. Not yet, anyway. She just wasn't ready yet to share her real name with everyone. Daryl reluctantly went along with it as long as Beth agreed to go.

"Have a seat," he said, directing her to the couch.

She did so and he sat too. "I'm, as you know, Dr. Rhee, but I'm not very formal. You can call me Glenn if you'd like."

* * *

**Welllll now you see why I had to make her name Angel instead of Beth. ;)**

**I hope the birth wasn't too graphic but I wanted to show that Beth wasn't as vulnerable and broken (is that right word?) as she appeared. **


	18. Disassociation

**EDITED TO ADD: I think I'm putting this one on pause. I am not a professional writer. I do my best. That's all I can offer. No, this isn't a bid for attention or compliments. I just hate leaving things hanging and wanted to let the readers of this fic know whats going on. I do very much appreciate your comments and your reading even though it's not the best quality. But I need a break.**

**Thank you for reading! **

**In my mind, Glenn didn't recognize Beth because of a few different reasons. She's older and thinner. Her hair is longer. He's never met her and only seen that one picture of her. Plus he didn't expect her to walk into his office using the name Angel. But we'll get there. ;) Promise.**

* * *

Beth nodded in response. She sat stiffly on the uncomfortable leather sofa. She tried not to fidget, futilely trying to control the tremors that ran through her body.

"Are you cold?" The doctor asked, frowning. "I can turn up the heat."

She didn't answer but he stood and went to a thermostat on the wall, fiddling with the buttons. The hum of the heater emitted in the background. It was almost too quiet, save for the hum echoing in Beth's ears.

Doctor Rhee, Glenn, whichever you wanted to call him, returned to his desk chair. It was turned outward towards the room. The L-shaped desk itself was tucked into the corner, facing the wall, not the windows which offered a decent view of the park across the street. Beth found this odd. If it were her, she'd want to face the windows.

Another thing that struck Beth as strange was he didn't dress the way she though a psychologist would dress. He wore jeans, grey Nike's and an Atlanta Braves T-shirt. His hair was longer in the front and shorter in the back giving him a boyish look. He had a friendly face and his casual demeanor that probably set his patients at ease. For some reason, it put her on edge. Some people were only nice to get their way. To find out what they wanted to find out.

Ignoring her unheeded mistrust of Dr. Rhee she noticed the office was in a quiet neighborhood that was filled with small businesses. A dentist's office. A chiropractor. A small preschool. The park across the street. The office itself was small, Doctor Rhee appeared to be the only psychologist occupying it. His secretary was less than busy when Beth and Daryl walked into the reception area. She was very polite and professional, letting the doctor know they were there through a text message on her phone.

Beth pulled her legs up, bringing her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees. Another defense mechanism, creating a barrier between herself and whatever it was this doctor wanted to know.

"I spoke with Tara," Doctor Rhee said, tapping a pencil lightly on the rubber sole of his shoe that was propped up on one knee.

Tara? The appointment with Dr. Chambler felt like a lifetime ago.

"She said you had a few minor abrasions when you went in to see her," he commented.

Beth absently traced a hand over the tiny bump of a scar where the worst of the cuts had been on her forehead.

"According to Sheriff Dixon, you seem to be doing better now. Physically."

Physically? Does that mean he thinks she wasn't doing better mentally? She didn't acknowledge the doctor's words, instead, she focused on a small piece of paper on the floor the vacuum must have missed.

"The Sherriff said you are living at his house?" He questioned.

Beth didn't detect any judgment in his statement, only stating a fact. She could imagine what he, a professional in his position might think of their living together. Of course, Dr. Rhee didn't know they were romantically involved and if she'd like to keep it that way. Even she didn't know what it, their living together and being involved, meant.

After a moment Glenn leaned forward in his chair, catching Beth's gaze. "I know this has to be hard. You don't know me. Why should you trust me?"

_Wow, that was accurate_, Beth thought dryly.

"For what it's worth, you can trust me. I am not permitted to tell anyone anything you say here unless I think you are a harm to yourself or someone else. Not even the Sheriff. Whatever you say is safe with me."

Beth took a breath. Not everything had to be so serious. He was right. All she had to do was talk to him. She was generally curious why she couldn't remember and why she still had trouble speaking at times. This was, unfortunately, one of those times.

Clearing her throat, she forced herself to look him in the eye, forced herself to answer him. "Yes, I live at Daryl's house," she managed to croak out.

Glenn nodded. "Is that working for you? I have resources I could…"

"No," Beth spoke loud and clear. "No, thank you," she repeated quieter this time. "I'm fine where I'm at." There was no way she'd chance going to a place like the center, nor did she want to leave Daryl.

"Okay. I'm glad it is working for you." Moving on, he said, "The Sheriff mentioned you have some lapses in your memory. Is this correct?"

She nodded, putting her legs back down, folding her right leg under the left. _Why the hell was this couch so uncomfortable_ she wondered?

"Hmm...that could be caused by a number of things. Traditional amnesia usually happens when there is a trauma to the head. Like a concussion. Usually, though, just the event itself or a short time before and after the incident is forgotten."

He waited and she gave a slight nod. He continued. "Honestly there are quite a few different types of amnesia. Selective amnesia is most noticeable when a person has a loss of memory related to an event but won't lose their memory for other events occurring during the same period of time. So they'll forget the car accident itself but not the events leading up to the accident. There is also dissociative amnesia. When the brain kind of tucks the memory of a bad situation away. If something hurts too much, the brain will protect the person."

When she didn't reply, he went on. "The good news is as we work through things, there is a good chance you will regain some of your memory. Eventually."

"What if I don't want to?" She asked, staring at the spot on the floor once again.

He leaned back, thoughtfully regarded Beth. "Don't want to remember?" He asked for clarification. "Do you _not_ want to remember?"

She liked the way he worded that. _Do you not want to remember_, rather than _Why don't you want to remember_. It felt less accusatory, less _are you crazy_? Maybe she was crazy, she really wouldn't be surprised if she were. She felt a little crazy sometimes.

"I don't know," she answered honestly.

Glenn smiled kindly. "The unknown can be a scary thing."

They regarded one another. Beth, though she couldn't explain it, felt the calmness emanating from him. It, in turn, calmed her raw nerves.

"Why don't we start with what you _do_ remember?" Glenn suggested. "The Sheriff says he found you on a mountain ridge? Do you remember that?"

She nodded.

"Do you remember how you came to be there?"

She shook her head no. "I don't. Not really, it's kind of foggy. I'm sorry."

Glenn held up a hand. "No reason to apologize. Tell me about the moment you saw the Sherrif," he said more specifically.

Beth closed her eyes, searching her mind for that precise moment. "I knew he was there before I saw him. I heard him talking to another person, a few seconds later he was a few feet from me."

"Okay," Glenn encouraged.

She remembered noticing how handsome he was. Ruggedly so. Even in the dark, even in her altered state. She wasn't scared of him, not really. She was scared of the situation. Of what who or might be behind her. His looks were a silly thing to notice at that very moment, she thought now.

"He kept his distance. It was so cold and I was shivering. He tossed his coat to me."

"Good, that's good Beth. Where were you at before that? Before Daryl came."

"I was...I was running."

. . .

Daryl had spoken to the doctor over the phone and the doctor made it clear he couldn't tell him anything Beth said during their now bi-weekly sessions. In return, Daryl made it clear she was in a somewhat fragile state and shouldn't be fucked with.

To Daryl's surprise, the doctor didn't back down but reassured him that he'd treat her like he did all his patients, with the utmost respect and care. It could have been something he told all of his patients and their families, Daryl didn't think so though. He got a good feeling from Glenn Rhee.

Whether Beth liked the doctor or not was anyone's guess. She wasn't like any other woman he knew. She didn't say what she feeling very easily or very often. She wasn't like Carol who was caring in a motherly way and brash, basically saying what was on her mind. She wasn't like Michonne with her caring but take no bullshit - well, except from Mike, attitude. His own mother was tough as nails and thought showing any kind of benevolence was a sign of weakness.

Beth was tougher than she let on, he was sure of this. She was stoic, yet there was also a vulnerable softness to her. Leather and lace.

Shortly after they got home from the appointment, she silently retreated to the bathroom and he heard the shower running soon after. Working all day after being awake all night left Daryl exhausted and he was dozing on the couch, head leaning on the back of the sofa when he felt Beth climb onto his lap. He was stirred awake by her lips on his exposed neck.

"Ya' asleep," she asked sweetly.

"What do you think you're doing?" He ignored her question, asking his own instead.

She snuggled into his chest, moaning an answer. She smelled of fresh water and shampoo. His hand ran up her arm, skin soft and still damp. He opened his eyes to see her peering into his face. She only wore an oversized towel wrapped around her body, sinched at the chest. It stopped high on her thighs leaving her legs exposed. Her hair was in tangled strands down her back.

"Tired?" She asked, her voice mumbled against his neck.

He nodded. "Not too tired for you, though" he answered honestly.

Her fingers traced down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt as she went. She followed the opening with her mouth. Her lips, her warm tongue, trailing the line of hair that disappeared below his belt buckle.

Her hand drifted over the growing bulge of his pants. With his quick cat-like reflexes, he grasped her by the waist and tossed her onto the couch. She landed with a small "uff". Balancing above her, he placed wet kisses along her inner knee, continuing up her thigh.

She closed her eyes tight, arching her back. He reached up and with a simple tug of the towel, sent it falling open, baring her beautiful body. Her breath caught at the sudden burst of cold air and looked down at him uncertainly.

"This okay, baby?" he whispered. He didn't think she wanted him to stop and he didn't want to, but he would if she requested him to do so. She gave him a little nod and relaxed marginally when he gave her a wink before continuing to travel kisses up her thigh. He was encouraged when she moaned as he slid his hand underneath her, cupped her ass.

Torturing her in the best possible way, he kissed his way up to her hip bone, circling her belly button with his tongue. His hand surrounded her thigh, spreading her legs a bit further apart. He was traveling further down until he placed a tentative tongue against her clit.

She gasped. Froze for a split second. This was not just a sexual act, it was an act of trust. Even he knew that. When his tongue began to move against her hot, wet, body, she moved with him. Her teeth closed over her bottom lip, she sighed, moaned. After some time she forgot to be self-conscious. She lost herself in Daryl and what he was doing to her body. She lost herself in how he was making her feel. She ran her fingers through his hair, a leg moved to rest over his shoulder.

"Damn. You taste so good," he mumbled. Gently he slipped a finger inside, curling upward. His other hand reaching up, kneading her breast, pulling her nipple until she said his name. Louder this time. She linked her fingers with his, squeezing her own breast with his hand.

He hoped he was making her feel better, making her forget herself if only for a moment.

"Don't stop," she panted.

He wasn't planning on it. Slipping in a second finger while his tongue took turns with his thumb circling her clit.

He stayed there until he brought her to simple ecstasy. Her breath came in short bursts. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard her saying his name over and over again and the word yes repeatedly._ Oh, Daryl. Please. Yes, yes! _Her body arched slowly lifting her back off the couch. Eyes closed tight, head thrown back, cheeks pink with elation, she finally froze before waves jerked through her, one after another. Her body clenching around his fingers, pressing back against his mouth. Then she melted back down.

Her eyes stayed closed as he kissed his way back up her body. His arms went naturally around her as he situated himself behind her, laying on the sofa next to her. He pulled the blanket kept on the back of the couch over her as the sweat they'd generated began to dry and her skin began to chill.

He had no way of knowing if anyone had done that to her before, he sure the hell never done it to another woman and enjoyed it as he had doing it to Beth. He wasn't in any hurry to move things along, so he laid there holding her.

Just who the hell had he become, he wondered?

. . .

"How'd the appointment go today? You like Dr. Rhee?" Daryl asked later that night. They'd laid on the couch together for a long time in what was becoming their usual position. Her back to his front, his arms wrapped tightly around her. They were both hungry and tired. Tiredness seemed to be winning out because neither was moving. Beth didn't seem the least bit concerned with redressing. Not that he minded.

Her voice tired, eyes closed, she said, "It was fine. The doctor was fine."

"Fine? That's all?" His fingers drifted down her bare arm. Momentarily tracing the white scar that marred the skin of her wrist. She quickly shuffled, moving her arm from his inspection.

She giggled, "Yeah, fine."

Turning in his arms, she faced him, lightly placing a kiss to his lips, biting at the bottom lip, sending goosebumps down his arms. "Now, we can either find something for dinner or go to bed. Which would you like to do?"

The taste of her was still on his lips and it would be easy to allow himself to be pulled back under the spell of her body. She was being purposefully evasive. He pulled back, grasped her bare shoulder. "Let me in Beth."

Leaning back, she eyed him in the dim light. Her eyes went from seductive to hurt. "What do you mean?"

"You don't gotta tell me everything that was said but I want to know we are heading down the right path. I want to know if you're comfortable with him." Yes, he wanted to know even though he had no idea what that right path looked like.

"He's fine. I mean how much can you tell by one appointment?"

If you asked him, you could tell a lot. "Beth…"

She was kissing him again, her muffled words against his skin. "I don't know what you want to know. I told you this is what I have to offer you."

It was clear what _this_ was as she pressed her naked body against his still fully clothed body. He pulled back completely. "What the hell does that even mean? Christ, you act like sex is all I'm after."

Maybe it was the lack of sleep or maybe it was the emotional rollercoaster of seeing his niece born in such a precarious situation. Or maybe it was because he wanted to know all of Beth and she wasn't cooperating, or couldn't cooperate, he wasn't sure which, he felt on edge as if all his nerve endings were exposed.

He regretted what he said the second he saw the tears pool in her eyes once again. She'd cried a lot of tears over the time since he'd met her, he felt this was the first time he caused them.

"I'm sorry. I just need you to know that's not all I'm about."

She looked away from him, shame coloring her cheeks. "I know, I'm sorry. I guess I don't know how else to show you I care."

He lightly grasped her chin, brought her face back to his. "Damn it, Beth, you don't have to apologize and you don't owe me anything. How can I get that through to you?" To soften his words, he kissed her hard, with meaning until she softened once again into him.

When they parted, the tears were gone. "I don't know how to go about this. Negan screwed everything up in my head..."

"Negan?" Daryl unintentionally snapped.

Taken aback by his tone, she stammered. 'Yeah, yeah, he just…he had all these wives."

Daryl held his position. Afraid to move. Afraid she'd stop talking. Even a year ago he'd say that he believed in coincidences. Why not? After this, after everything that's happened, he knew there was no such thing as coincidences. He was meant to come back to this town. He was meant to find Beth. Negan had to be the owner of the abandoned car.

"And of course he was the only one allowed to have sex. The only one to father any children," Beth sat up as she talked, threw on her sweatshirt, her leggins.

"Hey, hey," Daryl sat up too, touched her shoulder. "Slow down. Tell me more about this Negan guy."

"There's nothing to say," she lied.

. . .

The old knee-jerk reaction to always protect Negan, always protect the people of the Sanctuary, kicked in. It made her sick. Negan didn't deserve to be protected. The people that lived there, except for maybe Simon, the children especially didn't do anything wrong. Negan has done an undetermined amount of damage to everyone there, herself included.

Negan did not deserve her loyalty and Daryl didn't deserve anything but the full truth. He needed to know. She took a breath in, held it. "Negan is the founder, I guess you could call him, of the Sanctuary. He's not a good person," she said, the understatement of the year. She was glad to have her clothes back on, saying his name out loud made her chilled to the bone.

"What he do to you?" Daryl questioned. Reining in his anger, he sat up, pulled Beth back to sit with him again on the couch.

"Me? Nothin," she said nonchalantly. Nothing physically, emotionally and psychologically was a different story. "He never laid a finger on me. If I stayed he would have."

. . .

"What do you mean you're going up there?" Beth asked, a tremble in her voice.

"I'm just going to go talk to him," Daryl said, strapping on his shoulder holster and checking to be sure the Glock 9MM was fully loaded before holstering it. He pulled on a flannel jacket to conceal it.

He'd purposefully kept this bit of information from Beth until the last possible moment. He didn't expect that she would react well. Not that he blamed her. But he had a job to do.

She was sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing his shirt she now used as a nightshirt, arms wrapped tightly around her chest. Clearly angry. He kneeled in front of her, tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. He loved her hair in the mornings before she tamed it into her usual ponytail. It was wild and unruly, kind of like her. To the average outsider, they'd look at Beth and see a girl who was quiet, soft, maybe even damaged. A girl who was the victim of a tyrannical man that tried, and for the most part succeeded, to control those around him. Daryl knew better, he looked a little deeper and saw her for who she was. A survivor.

"Beth, look at me." He hated it when she refused to look him in the eye. Finally, her eyes, clear as the water reflecting a bright blue sky on a cold October morning, fluttered to his. They were uncertain, yes, but they also showed a little defiance. He didn't mind the defiance. She had every right to be pissed. He had every right to do his job.

"I have to go. I can't let this guy get away with what he's doing."

He wasn't fully sure exactly what Negan was getting away with, he felt _had _to go up there and find out. Yes, while it was his job, it was personal too. He couldn't just sit idly by.

"Please don't," she asked.

"Don't ask me something I can't do. Why don't you want me to go? I'm just going to go talk to him today. Depending on what I see, there might be further repercussions. But today, me and Michonne are just testing the waters. We might not even be able to find the place."

The plan was for him and Michonne to go up there and, depending on the weather, hike from the cemetery he came across while searching those many months ago. If he was being honest with himself, he'd admit that he purposefully put off going up there sooner. If he found where Beth came from, she might decide to go back. Bottom line, he didn't want to lose her. But he couldn't continue to let Negan loom over his town.

"And if you do find it?" Beth questioned.

"I'll figure that out when I get there," he said, the corner of his lips lifting into that crooked smile of his.

He really didn't know. Obviously, he couldn't run in there and start arresting people. Not yet anyway. He'd be sure to cross his t's and dot all his i's with this fucker so there'd be no chance he'd squirm out of whatever he might end up being charged with.

"You're placating me," Beth said a small smile on her face.

He reached up and gave her a quick kiss and stood, pulling her up from the bed with him. "Come on, I'll drop you off to Carol's before I go."

She had already tried to talk him into taking her with him. He firmly refused. Not only was it against police protocol, but there was also no way he was taking her within miles that asshole.

* * *

**Thanks for reading, leave a comment!**


	19. Sometimes Happy Memories Hurt The Most

**I have no idea if anyone is still interested in this or not, but I think I'm ready to start writing again. I didn't have time to go back and read over what I'd already written so I'm sorry if there are lapses or things repeated. I did it to the best of my memory, which can be kind of hit or miss sometimes. lol **

**Thanks for reading. I hope to update regularly from now on.**

**Sidenote - I have no idea how hypnosis works. ;)**

* * *

"You know, staring at that door like that won't make him walk through it any quicker," Carol told Beth.

Beth was leaning on the counter of the bookstore, wondering just how long Daryl was going to be. It was planned that she would go with Carol to her house if he wasn't back by closing time and it wasn't looking like he was going to make it back by then.

Sigh, she turned around and sat on the floor with Carol. She was unloading a shipment of books and Beth was supposed to be helping her. Working off the money she owed Carol for the clothes she'd bought her for Michonne's party had turned into a recurring thing. She enjoyed it for the most part. Occasionally she struggled with her inability to speak to people, but slowly she was working through it and Carol made sure no one gave Beth a hard time.

It had been hours and still no word from Daryl. He warned that he probably wouldn't be able to check in with her because there was little to no cell service until you were further down the mountain. He'd try to radio Jessie at the station and have Jessie call the bookstore. He didn't promise though.

"I know, I'm just worried."

Worrying was apparently in her nature. What if Daryl couldn't find the Sanctuary? What if he _did_ find it? And if he did, what did it mean for her and him and everyone there. The danger mixed with the uncertainty involved brought her worrying to a whole new level.

"You should come to yoga with me sometime. It does wonders for the worried mind," Carol suggested.

Beth only smiled. She needed Daryl back safe and sound, _that_ would help her worried mind.

"Y'all seem to be getting pretty cozy," Carol remarked, cutting open another box.

Trying unsuccessfully to push off her worry, Beth busied herself inputting the title of each book into a spreadsheet on Carol's laptop.

"He's been really kind to me," she answered evasively, heat rushing to her cheeks. She didn't need to look at Carol to know the look she was probably giving her in return. It was that motherly look that said she saw through Beth like a piece of glass.

Beth found it strange that she knew what that "motherly" look was considering she didn't even remember her own mother.

"I love him," Beth blurted. So much for being evasive. She couldn't help it, the words bubbled to the surface like lava in a volcano.

Carol froze, a large paperback in her hand. "Well. That was quick."

Beth dared a peek at Carol's face. That mischievous grin was there again making her relax marginally.

"Yeah, it is," she agreed. "But it's the only thing I'm sure about right now."

She probably shouldn't have said anything. She certainly didn't mean to. Carol had a way of bringing things out of her and there was no taking it back. Now that it was out in the open, she felt a little better.

Carol sat the book back in the box and moved from kneeling on the floor to sitting cross-legged, grunting as she did. "I guess it has been a few months," she decided. "I'm not one to judge, that's for sure."

Smiling as though she was truly happy for Beth, she said, "I'm happy for you two. He's one of the good ones."

Beth nodded. She'd attest to that. "Please don't tell him. I shouldn't have said anything. What do I know about love anyway? I know nothing."

"Consider my lips sealed. I'm sure you know more than you realize. The ability to love another person is one of those things you don't forget how to do. It just happens. Like breathing."

"I'm not so sure about that," Beth said more to herself than Carol.

She felt Carol's eyes on her for the next moment or so, watching as she entered book titles into the spreadsheet on the laptop. Finally, Carol said, "Can I ask you something?"

Beth nodded again, only guessing what Carol wanted to say; _It's too soon. You don't really know him. You can't love him because I do._

"You really can't remember anything from your past?"

Though it wasn't an easy question, Beth was happy to be off the subject of the sad puppy love she had for Daryl. "Nope. I have glimpses here or there. Sometimes I'll remember something and then it'll fade away like a dream does in the morning. Other memories are just a part of me, like my skin or like the freckle that is on my right shoulder," Beth shook her head absently. "I remember the house I grew up in. I can feel the love those walls emitted."

Carol leaned over and patted her knee affectionately. "At least you have that."

"Yeah, each day my head feels a bit less foggy. The words come a little bit easier. The psychologist I see, he seems optimistic that I'll regain some of my memory."

"Interesting," Carol said, squinting her eyes.

Beth thought maybe Carol was being facetious but she quickly added, "I'm serious. I find the way the mind works fascinating. I was going to be a psychologist before, well, in another life."

"Why didn't you? What happened?"

"Ed happened," she said frowning. But then smiled. "And then came Sophia. And life just has a way of slipping by. I'm happy where I am now. But anyway," she said, pushing the thoughts away with the shake of a head. "Have you thought of trying hypnosis?"

"Hypnosis?" Beth moved the laptop from her lap, setting it on the floor, and grabbed the stack of books she'd just entered into the computer.

"Yeah, it can help bring up the memories your brain has hidden from you. I don't think anyone really forgets anything." Carol said. Standing, she followed Beth around the store as she put the books in their correct places on the shelves. "We just store it away."

"Oh umm, no, I've never thought of it."

"It's just communication with the unconscious mind," Carol explained as though it were that simple.

Beth laughed, "Oh is that all?"

Beth thought back to the conversation she had with Glenn when she told him she wasn't sure she wanted to remember. She was honest when she told him that. Not remembering would inevitably keep her mind stuck where it is. Stuck in the present. But was that so bad? The idea of change, just when she was getting used to her life as it is now, frightened her.

"Yeah, nothing to it," Carol joked, winking. "Hypnosis is one of the many things I've studied over the years. Among a million other useless things. Want to try it? Come on, It'll be fun," Carol encouraged. "And it might help. Aren't you the least bit curious about your past?"

Beth shelved the last book and faced Carol. "Of course I'm curious."

"There is no actual scientific proof that hypnosis works to regain memories anyway. If nothing, it'll help pass the time. So, what do you have to lose?"

* * *

Daryl laid on the frozen ground watching through a pair of binoculars as the people of what Beth described as the Sanctuary went about their business. A few men, even more women, and their children. They were all dressed similarly. White gowns, wool coats, boots. It was a strange get-up for the mountain weather. Just last week it had snowed and temps got down below the zero mark.

But they were there just as Beth said they would be. A few miles up the mountain from the Sutton's place. Not all that far from Merle's. It's no wonder no one knew they were there, they were so isolated behind the tree line. The main way in, blocked by a gate, was completely camouflaged by shrubbery. The whole enclosure blended in with the surrounding area. The only reason they found them at all was the telltale tendrils of smoke from their cabins chimneys.

"What do you think?" Daryl asked, handing the binoculars over to Michonne. They hid down an embankment a couple of hundred yards off. From there they could see almost the whole area. The hidden driveway, the cabins that were more like shacks. In the center, there was a large building that must serve as the hub of their little town as people entered and exited often in the short time they'd been watching.

A small structure stood off from the rest. Nicer and a little bit bigger, it was an actual cabin rather than a shack. Smoke billowed from the chimney. Two windows in the front and only one door as far as Daryl could see.

"I think they must be crazy living up here like this. It's freezing," Michonne said, looking through the binoculars. She was bundled up in what must have been four layers. Daryl made a mental note to tease her about it later.

"If I had to guess, there's got to be close to fifty people "

"Uh huh. And a lot of kids." He watched as the children ran around from one building to the other. Some played in the general area. The children did seem to be adequately dressed. He'd give them a point for that.

"You think we ought to pay them a visit?" Daryl needlessly asked.

Michonne handed the binoculars back to Daryl. "Hell yeah, I do."

* * *

"Deep breath in, deeper breath out. Every breath you take in, make it a little deeper. Just relax. Relax your shoulders. Focus on my voice. That's it breath in and out slowly."

_In and out, how else am I supposed to breathe,_ Beth asked herself. Giggles bubbled up her throat and she tried to hold them back but couldn't.

"I'm sorry, Carol, I'm trying. In and out. Breathing."

Carol held back her own laughter and continued. "You are safe. Nothing can hurt you here. You are safe," she repeated. Carol's voice flowed like a gentle brook over smooth round rocks. "Now bring your full attention to the backs of your eyelids. Peer into the darkness. Relax your mind. Relax your forehead, relax your mouth, your jaw. Let the relaxation flow through your body, from the top of your head to your feet. Allow yourself to let go."

She trusted Carol and forced herself to do as she said. She took in deep breaths. She relaxed her body. Strangely she felt herself growing lethargic, her eyelids growing heavy. After some time her breath became shallow, relaxed. She felt as Carol picked up her right hand in her own, and let it fell back onto her knee. She was asleep, but not quite.

"Allow yourself to sink deeper and deeper. Deeper still." Beth's head began to nod, chin down, jaw lose. "That's it. Just let yourself sink down deeper. Good. Now in your mind, I want you to count backward from fifteen. Not just count but envision the numbers floating on the back of your eyelids as you count. With each count, the numbers will get smaller. With each number you will let go of another obstruction that is keeping your memories at bay. Don't be afraid," she said again. "You're going to view your memories from a distance. As though you're watching a movie. Let your unconscious mind come to the forefront."

* * *

Daryl drove the Bronco right up to their gate. It was no surprise when, after a few minutes, and they realized he wasn't leaving, two men came through the gate. They were young. Couldn't have been more than eighteen. They were both probably armed though their weapons weren't visible.

When one of the boys approached the driver's side door, Daryl rolled down his window smiled as amicably as he could muster. This took a lot of effort.

"Hello there. I'm Sheriff Dixon," he said, pointing to the badge on the sleeve of his coat. "This is Deputy Hawthorne." Daryl made a show of retrieving a small notebook from his pocket, reading the name. It was all unnecessary of course. He knew Negan's name. "Is there a Negan Smith on the premises?"

"Why do you need to know?" The boy asked, his voice shaking a little. He frowned, looked from Daryl to the other boy that stood at the front of the truck, hindering his entrance behind the brush-covered gate.

"Well, we found an abandoned car registered to him."

"We're guessing it was stolen and would like to return it to him," Michonne filled in.

The boy ducked his head, looking over Michonne. His eyes darkened slightly ominously. He palmed a two-way radio that was clipped onto his belt and spoke into it. A voice came back over the crackling radio waves.

"What the hell do ya' mean there's someone here to see Negan?" The voice sounded alarmed.

Daryl flashed to a scene in The Wizard of Oz he caught on television a few times as a kid. Back when there were only three channels to choose from. The screen was fuzzy and occasionally the image would flip. _Nobody gets in to see the wizard. Not nobody, not no how._

"He says he's a sheriff. Says he found Negan's car."

The voice over the radio said he'd be there momentarily. The boy repeated it to Daryl. "He'll be here in a few."

"He who?" Daryl asked. "Negan?" Surely it wouldn't be that easy.

"No. Simon," he said as though Daryl knew who that was. He nodded, though. He'd wait for this Simon guy, see what he had to say.

"What's your name, son?" Daryl asked, trying to keep him talking.

The boy thought for a second, sent the other kid a look and when he nodded, he said, "Mark, that's Al." He was tall, wiry. Brown shaggy hair hung heavily around his face. He wore thick drug store-bought glasses. He looked harmless and Daryl wondered why they would put a couple of kids in charge of the gate.

"How long have ya' lived here for?" Daryl asked casually, taking a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket, took one out and put it between his lips. He didn't light it though. Michonne would have a fit if he smoked with her in the truck. The taste of tobacco on his tongue made his mouth water.

Mark eyed Daryl uncertainly again. Thinking deeply. "Just 'bout my whole life."

"Really? How long is that? You're what? Seventeen? Eighteen?" Daryl asked conversationally. Calmly. Engaging him.

"Twenty."

"Damn, this place been here for how long then?" Daryl was genuinely surprised.

"I don't quite remember when I came here. I was young. Maybe seven."

"Just tell him your life story why dontcha?" This was from Al, speaking for the first time.

Before he could respond, the gate was pushed open just enough for a man with a mustache and receding hairline to walk through. Al backed away and the man stared Mark down and he stepped away too. The hierarchy was apparent. The boys were underneath this man.

"What's your business here?" he asked. Unlike the boys, the man had a gun clearly visible tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

"Just wanted to speak to Negan Smith. We have some information about a car that is registered to him."

The man spat on the ground, pushed his hair back off his head. "Sorry, ain't happenin'."

"And why's that?"

"'Cause he's busy. You tell me your business with him and I'll give him the message."

"You his messenger boy?" Daryl asked. He was only partly trying to get his goat. Unlike the boys, Daryl wasn't intimidated by him. The moment this man opened his mouth, Daryl's hackles rose. "What's your name?"

"Negan is a busy man, he don't have time for the likes of you."

"Well, ain't that fancy. But I am the sheriff," he told him.

"And I ain't gotta' to let you in."

Unfortunately, he was right. Unless he obtained a search warrant he couldn't go further than the driveway unless they invite him in and he doubted that would happen. But he wasn't going to give up that easily.

"How 'bout Mr. Negan comes out here?"

Before Simon had a chance to respond, the sound of an engine reverberated around them. Al opened the gate fully and a man rode up on a quad. He made a circle around the Bronco and parked just outside the gate facing towards the compound. Daryl took one look at Michonne and they both exited the vehicle.

Daryl was finally able to light that cigarette. "If I had to guess, I'd say you're the one and only Negan," Daryl said after taking a long drag and blowing the smoke up into the air. The smoke floated away on the wind.

The man took his time dismounting the quad. He wore a leather coat, which struck Daryl as odd. They were in the middle of nowhere and it was damn cold. The wardrobe choice was out of place. Even odder, he sported a red scarf tucked into the jacket.

There was a baseball bat attached to the handlebars on the front of the quad. The bat itself wasn't very alarming. It was the barbed wire that encircled it that put Daryl on edge.

He glanced at Michonne. She noticed it too.

"You'd be correct in your summation and you must be Sheriff Dixon. I've heard so much about you," Negan drawled, putting out a hand and shaking Daryl's. He blatantly ignored Michonne, so Daryl purposefully introduced her.

Not until Negan was forced, did he acknowledge her. "Well ain't you a breathtaking creature," he schmoozed. Taking her hand lightly. Daryl was afraid he'd try to kiss her knuckles. Thankfully he didn't. The last thing he wanted was for his deputy to, rightfully, pummel this chauvinistic dickhead.

"So, you found my car?"

Daryl had almost forgotten their ruse of the found car. "Uh-huh. It's impounded I'm afraid. You'll have to come to the department to sort it out and retrieve it."

Negan rolled a shoulder, flourished his hand. "I'll send someone to fetch it," he said casually.

Daryl pushed off the hood of the Bronco, walked up to where Negan. He stood with a foot propped up on the footboard of the quad, an arm resting on his knee. Looking past Negan, Daryl said, "I got to say, I grew up on this mountain and I didn't know anyone was up here. How long have y'all been here?"

"Oh, some years now," he answered vaguely.

"How many people you got living up here with you?"

"A few."

Okay, apparently he wasn't going to offer any information. "Listen, I'd like to come in. Take a look around. Make sure everything on the up and up," Daryl spoke honestly.

"Up and up? Why wouldn't things be on the up and up?" He asked with phoney offense.

"I don't know. But it's my job to make sure everyone is safe. It can't be easy living up here." This whole situation stunk to high heaven. He didn't trust Negan or his goons, even the young men. Period. Full stop.

"Let me reassure you. Everyone is safe and everyone is here of their own Lord-willing volition. Now if you'll excuse me, I got work to do."

* * *

Once the giggles had passed, Beth was able to settle down and focus on Carol's voice. It was a strange sensation. She was fully aware of where she was but she was in a foggy in-between state. She felt light, kind of like she was floating in a bubble. It was calming. She felt safe in that in-between bubble world.

She could hear Carol's voice, far off and distant, leading further into her subconscious.

Beth was somewhere else than the bookstore. She was sitting on the floor. She could feel the coolness of the wood planks underneath her legs. She was playing with a bowl and a wooden spoon, stirring some invisible concoction only known to her toddler self. She didn't know how she knew, but she was in the old farmhouse she grew up in. A woman was standing at a sink, humming softly. A boy ran through the back door, sending it slamming loudly closed. The woman at the sink hollered over her shoulder at the boy. She wasn't really mad though, she chuckled and shook her head lightheartedly.

A man, tall with greys streaking his dark hair, strolled in after the boy and bent to pick Beth up off the floor, swooping her up into his strong arms. Instantly she felt safe. Loved. He carried her over to the woman at the sink and gave her a warm kiss on the cheek.

Just as she knew the house, she knew this man and woman were her parents. Hershel and Annette.

Beth wanted to cry. And laugh. She didn't want to leave them. Part of her knew she was still in a dream-like hypnotic state, that it was only a memory. But how she wanted to remain in that memory with them.

Unfortunately, after a few too brief moments, she snapped awake. She was momentarily confused, like when you fall asleep on the couch in the middle of the afternoon and wake up having no idea what time of day it was.

She was disappointed to find herself back at Carol's bookstore. Inside, emotions swamped her, outwardly she kept it together. Wanting to keep that moment with her parents to herself, she said nothing. It was personal, it was all she had of them.

Carol looked at her expectantly. Beth hoped Carol wouldn't be disappointed when she said, "Well, that was weird. It was like a took a little nap."

"Remember anything new?" She asked.

"No. Sorry, I don't."

Carol smiled warmly and patted her leg. "That's fine."

"I feel lighter, I guess."

As silly as it sounded, she did feel lighter. She hadn't realized how tense her shoulders had been until the moment when they no longer felt heavy or hunched together. Her brow, constantly furrowed with worry, giving her a constant headache, relinquished its frown.

"Well, that's something I guess," Carol said. Beth agreed.


	20. Into Dust

**Thanks to everyone who is still interested and read and left a comment. :) I so appreciate it.**

* * *

The memory generated by the hypnosis weighed heavily on Beth, more than she let on to Carol. She did her best to ignore the emotions it brought up. She finished up the computer work Carol had for her, she straightened shelves, dusted, swept she wandered around the store, made small talk with a Rosita when she came in to gossip, not shop for books. She made a fresh batch of coffee. She didn't like the stuff and wasn't sure how she knew how to make it but Carol claimed she 'made a good cup'.

In a corner in the back of the store next to a large window overlooking the town square, a comfy chair was set up. A guitar was propped in the corner next to some books casually stacked into a short tower. She'd noticed it before and her fingers tingled each time she neared it. She ignored the feeling. Today, though, it was harder to ignore. Gently, almost reverently, she ran her fingers down the smooth wood of the side of the neck, over the fret. It made a small squeak of a sound, vibrating under her forefinger.

"You know how to play?" Carol questioned startling Beth. She hadn't realized she was standing behind her.

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well, only one way to find out," Carol encouraged, giving her a slight nudge to the ribs with her elbow before moving on.

Slowly, as though she were moving through mud, Beth took the guitar in her hands and sat on the edge of the chair. Unexpectedly, her fingers went to the correct places and she began strumming lightly. It quickly went from clumsy sounding randomness to melodious. What her mind didn't seem to remember, her hands did.

Soon her throat vibrated with unsung words and she began to hum. The humming turned into words. Soon she was playing and singing songs she didn't know she knew. The words, the music that flowed through her, was comforting. It eased the ache in her chest, it stifled her worry.

* * *

Daryl arrived when she was midway through her third song. At first, he thought they had the radio going, then realized he recognized the voice. He followed it to the back of the store and sure enough, there was Beth not only signing but playing the guitar as well.

He stood back, listening. He had no idea what she sang, he only knew it was giving him that uneasy feeling in his gut. The same feeling he got when she smiled at him or kissed him, or when her gaze held his a heartbeat longer than it needed to. It wasn't a bad uneasy feeling, just one he hadn't experienced up to this point in his life.

Beth sang lightly but clearly.

_I could possibly be fading_  
_Or have something more to gain_  
_I could feel myself growing colder_  
_I could feel myself under your fate_  
_Under your fate_

_It was you_  
_Breathless and torn_  
_I could feel my eyes turning into dust_  
_And two strangers_  
_Turning into dust_

That uneasy feeling was quickly, and surprisingly, replaced with anger. Anger that she had to spend any time with that slimy heathen disguised as a good guy, Negan. The idea Negan might have touched her, even with the slightest brush of his pinky finger made him furious. He wasn't going to let this sick bastard get away with whatever it was he was doing. Daryl didn't know the extent of it but he was determined to figure it out and throw every law at his disposal at him.

Beth looked up, surprised and a little embarrassed, her cheeks flushing. The relief she felt seeing him overrode the embarrassment. She stopped playing and put the guitar to the side, stood and went straight to him, into his arms. His heartbeat loud and strong under her ear.

"I didn't know you played," he said, lips pressed to the top of her head.

Beth smiled shyly. "I didn't either until I saw the guitar, sat down and started to play." Maybe it was the hypnosis. Maybe it wasn't. The ability was there though. She wondered what else was hidden deep down waiting to resurface.

It was exciting. And terrifying.

"Well, I'm glad you do." Her voice did things to his body he didn't understand.

* * *

They were home and starting dinner before either had the nerve or energy to speak about the day. A part of Beth didn't want to know. They could just go about their evening, pretend nothing happened. They'd eat dinner, watch television. Go to bed. Make love. That wouldn't make it all go away though and she was too curious not to ask.

"How'd today go? Did you find the Sanctuary?" She guessed he did since he was gone so long.

He nodded, chopping the browning hamburger meat in a pan on the stove with a spatula. "We did. Pretty easily too. It's not too far from Merle's."

Beth didn't realize how much she'd hoped he didn't find it up until that moment.

"Did you talk to _him_?" She didn't want to say Negan's name. She busied herself trying to open a can of Sloppy Joe with an uncooperative can opener.

Daryl took the can and opener from her. Opened it with ease.

"Yeah, I did. I didn't find out anything pertinent. He wouldn't let me past the gate. Even though we found it easily, he's well hidden up there. I probably only found it 'cause I grew up there. I don't know how you managed to make it as far as you did. Barefoot and in the cold."

"I don't know either," she answered quietly.

He moved the pan off the burner and shut it off, and went to her. He placed a hand around the back of her neck, feeling the coolness of his hand against the heat of her skin. "What were you running from? I mean, I know you wanted to get away from Negan. But, barefoot and in the middle of the night?"

"I took my shot. We, especially Negan's future wives, were watched closely. I found myself alone and I took off. Wasn't very smart, I know."

"Na. You did what you had ta'. And I'm glad you did." He smiled. "If he's doing something illegal, I need to know what it is. You're the only witness I got."

Even though she was with Daryl, quite possibly the safest place in the world, cold shivered down her back. She hated how her voice quivered when she spoke about Negan. Clearly, she was still afraid of him. "Remember when I told you about all the babies being born?"

Daryl nodded as she slipped from his grasp and sunk down into one of the kitchen chairs. She didn't want to talk about it. Couldn't they just stay in their little blissful bubble?

"They were all his?" Daryl remembered her telling him as much. He hoped it wasn't true, but Beth was there, lived it for years. She knew better than he did.

She took a long shaky breath. "Yes. All the babies that were born since I came there, as far as I know, were Negan's. From various wives. He was married a long time ago to a woman who died. He never legally married again. He said that marriage is a construct made by the government to keep tabs on everyone. He said he only needed God's permission to consummate a marriage. God told him who he should marry."

Daryl could taste the disgust he felt for Negan in his mouth. "How old were his wives?" He asked, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

"All different ages. I'm almost positive they were all of legal age. Negan's crazy but he's not stupid."

"Well, the age of consent is sixteen. So unless anyone was under that age," he let the implication hang in the air. He had to find something tangible to nail Negan against the wall.

After a moment of silence, Beth spoke again. "I was next in line to be his wife. That's why I ran. I'm ashamed to say at one time I wanted to be one of his wives. It would have been an honor. As time went on, I began to loathe Negan and what he stood for. I saw him for who he really was. As a self-indulgent conman. I was afraid to marry him, to become his next baby making factory. So I ran." She rubbed her hands over her face in frustration. "God, I'm such a coward."

"Hey now," Daryl took the two steps to her, squatted down to be face to face. "You are not a coward."

"I left. Out of all the atrocities Negan committed and abuse he projected onto his people, I left because I was going to be his wife. I was selfish."

"That's bullshit. You couldn't take everyone with you, could ya'?" He asked, forcing her to make eye contact with him.

"But still," she argued weakly.

"You didn't do anything wrong, let's get that straight right now." He cupped her chin with his finger and thumb. "Now's your chance to help the people that are still there. Tell me what you know and we can use it against him."

* * *

Beth said those three tiny words that meant so much aloud only when Daryl wasn't listening. When he couldn't hear her. The words just above a whisper. Nothing more than a breath, really. A sigh.

_I love you._

It wasn't any wonder why she couldn't say the words out loud. She'd lived a fallacy for years. Negan claimed his love for the Saviors. It was just another ploy to retain control. Negan loved no one but himself. She was embarrassed to say she thought she loved him at one time. If that was love, then she didn't want any part of it.

It was best to keep her feelings for Daryl under wraps. A secret only she knew. Could she really trust her feelings anyway? She stumbled out of a cult and the first man she came into contact with she falls in love with. It was completely absurd.

She may not trust herself, but she trusted Daryl. So, she told him what she could about the Sanctuary. Everything she remembered anyway.

About Negan's increasing slip on reality. About the wives. How she had been there for years until he deemed her worthy and she realized becoming Negan's wife was one of the last things she wanted. She told Daryl about the babies that were born and how the children were the bright light in the alternate universe they lived in.

She told him about the baby that may have some sort of cognitive issues because she was deprived of oxygen during birth and how Negan flippantly said to get rid of her. How she lied to save the baby's life and said the baby was perfectly fine, even though Beth had no way of knowing.

She told him about the child they'd lost the winter before. He probably would have made it if they'd been allowed basic antibiotics. She expressed the grief and guilt she felt not leaving right then and taking the boy with her.

Daryl reasoned how impossible that would have been. Even if she was able to get the boy away from his mother and past Negan and Simon and everyone else, taking a sick boy out into the cold wilderness was less than ideal. He probably wouldn't have made the trek to town, not to mention that'd be kidnapping.

Beth wouldn't hear of it though. She should have tried harder. She begged the boys' mother to implore Negan to allow them to take him to the town. The mother wouldn't allow it. And when Beth went to Negan herself, he wouldn't even consider it. It could mess up everything they had and, to Negan, sometimes you have to sacrifice one for the whole.

At that point, she was already questioning her loyalty to Negan. She could look past a lot of things, this wasn't one of them. She'd never be able to forgive herself for some things no matter what Daryl said, no matter how he tried to convince her.

She was sure to emphasize that the people there were not bad. They were misguided. They were brainwashed, plain and simple.

She and Daryl stayed up all night. Talking, talking, talking and when she could no longer talk about Negan or the Sanctuary, Daryl took her to bed. Even after all she told him, he still seemed to feel the same about her. He stripped her of all her clothes and brought her to bliss, forcing all the bad out of her mind. Making her _feel_ something other than worthlessness.

* * *

There was something nagging Glenn about Angel that wouldn't go away. Maybe it was her situation. Though he'd seen worse cases than hers. Dissociative amnesia was serious but she wasn't physically harmed. Didn't appear to have any substance abuse problems and was currently in a safe environment.

She was more forthcoming than she had been at first, yet understandably still standoffish. He didn't blame her. She was protecting herself which was that basis dissociative disorder. Dissociative amnesia is frequently associated with previous experiences of trauma. What exactly that trauma was, he wasn't sure.

She was unsure about her new place in the world, that much was obvious. Unsure about him and herself and the situation she found herself to be in.

During their sessions, he found it increasingly hard to focus. There was a familiarity about her. The way she rolled a shoulder. Or tucked her hair behind an ear. The way she worded things.

Other times she was once again a stranger and he'd think he was imagining it. She was a kind, intelligent person. He could see how someone like hers could get caught up with a "cult". Cult - her word, not his. To be considered an actual cult it has to meet certain criteria and he didn't know enough about it yet.

But plenty of people found themselves in unfortunate situations. Bad marriages. Bad jobs. Sometimes they were influenced by bad people. It didn't mean they themselves were bad. Most of the time people were searching for something more. Other times, they were trying to escape their lives for a million different reasons.

Why she left her life and family remained to be seen. He forced himself to forget whatever it was that gnawed at him and do the job he was there to do, which was to help her.

"It sounds like you're making progress. Remembering how to play the guitar, opening up more to the sheriff. And the bookshop owner? Carol."

While Beth liked Glenn, she'd much rather not discuss any of this, she knew it was best for her. With each appointment, she was able to share a bit more about what she remembered.

"If you're comfortable, can you tell me the first thing you remember after coming to the Sanctuary? Or, maybe what you felt while you were there before you became disenfranchised?"

She thought for some time, racking her brain, trying to remember.

"I remember being happy." She grimaced. It pained her to say so. She didn't want to remember the Sanctuary as being a good place. But it wasn't all bad all of the time.

She looked down at her fingertips, now calloused over because of her almost daily guitar practice at the bookstore. She worked there for a few days a week doing odd jobs and even started working the register on occasion, though it still made her nervous to talk to those that came into the store that she didn't know. During slow times, she'd play in the little corner in the back.

"Why does that upset you?" Glenn asked. Always perceptive of her moods. "Why does it upset you to say you were happy?"

"Because it's a horrible place."

He leaned forward in his chair. "But," he began, "you didn't know that at first. So, let's go with that, without any judgment. What was it about the Sanctuary that made you happy?"

How was she not supposed to judge herself? It wasn't that easy. She didn't think she deserved forgiveness.

"Everyone was working together toward a similar goal."

"What goal was that?"

"To sustain Negan's vision of a life away from the depravity of the world," she said using Negan's exact words.

"Tell me about it," he said, encouraging her to continue.

"About the Sanctuary?"

She wasn't sure she could put it into words. She didn't remember the day she came there, she only remembered being suddenly a part of the community sometime later.

"Yes, the Sanctuary," he clarified, steering clear of Negan for the time being.

Beth thought back:

It was midsummer and stifling, even up in the mountains. Despite the heat, smoke bellowed out of the chimney of the main building. The main building was where the communal kitchen was located and where they ate. Negan's meetings were conducted there.

Some of the members grumbled to each other about the meetings, Beth had enjoyed the few she had attended so far. She swore Negan was speaking directly to her as he stood front and center. She was captivated by his words.

It was similar to the hippie communes she'd seen online and on television shows, but not quite. The women wore ankle length white gowns, most were barefoot. The men wore navy work pants and white t-shirts. And the children, so many of them, ran around half naked, playing in the dirt, having fun. Beth wasn't sure how long it was before she realized most of the children were Negan's. They all called him Papa. She thought it was a term of endearment.

Being new she wanted to fully immerse herself in her new life and dove headfirst into the group. Helping out wherever needed on top of the duties she was initially assigned to, which was laundry duty. Everyone loathed it. The job was given to newcomers, hoping to weed out the weak and to break the strong-willed. It was also assigned as punishment to those who had disobeyed the rules one way or another.

Large cauldron-like pots were set up on campfire stoves. In the summer heat, her hair would be drenched within a few minutes of stirring the linens and clothing in the boiling hot water. She happily did it. She kept her head down and worked hard as though it was the most important job.

"And it was an important job in its own way. People need clean clothes, right?" Glenn asked.

She smiled a little. "I guess. It's frustrating to remember so many insignificant details like what the steam on my face felt like but nothing about what happened to lead me there."

"Keep talking," Glenn brightly told her. His calm optimism encouraged her. "Keep talking. Keep thinking."

* * *

With the encouragement of Daryl as well as Glenn, Beth went to the station to fill out an anonymous formal complaint on Negan. She was grateful to have Daryl there. Michonne too. It was strangely easy to go through the facts in an unemotional way. She distanced herself as though she was telling a story. Ignoring the fact that this story was her real life. What Negan was doing wasn't right and it needed to come to a stop.

She stuck to the facts from her most recent memory.

"There's a fine line here between mistreatment and what is illegal," laminated Michonne once Beth was through. "Well have to tread carefully."

Beth did not like the sound of that. "What do you mean?"

"We just have to be sure to be thorough," Daryl said. "Make sure all our work is in order."

"What will happen to everyone there?" Beth asked, trepidation in her voice.

"We can't say yet," Michonne gently told her.

"You don't understand," Beth began, panic sudden and sharp. Now that she'd told the facts, the emotions came back full force. "Many of the people have been there for years. Babies. Children. It's the only life they've known. They don't think they're being mistreated. They definitely don't think anything he is doing is illegal. If they are aware of it, Negan will twist it to make it seem like it's an us versus them kind of thing. His people won't turn their backs on him."

"You did. You're stronger and braver than you realize. You saw through him. Others might too," Michone said, placing a hand of solidarity on her shoulder.

Another thought even more terrifying than what might or might not happen to Negan came to her mind. "Will you take the children away from their mothers? Some might say they're unfit or that they shouldn't be up there. Or maybe they're not safe." All were probably true in one facet or another. Nothing was black and white or yes or no.

Negan was the biological father of all those children, what repercussions would that have? He wasn't really a _father. _Not in the traditional sense. He didn't interact much with them, if at all. Did he have some right to them?

Her eyes darted between Michonne and Daryl. She was quickly beginning to second guess everything. She was confident while giving her statement, now it was catching up to her.

"It won't be up to us specifically. I'll do the leg work, but I'll have to hand it over to the state at some point. Just from your statement, I'll be able to obtain a warrant so I can go in. Check things out for myself then we'll go from there. It'll be okay, Beth, we'll figure it out."

"I don't want anyone hurt," Beth said, holding back tears. Wondering just what she started.

* * *

**Thanks again. I have the next chapter done. Just need to beta it. Leave a comment!**


	21. Finding A Way Back

**Well, this chapter ended up longer than I thought it would. Hope you enjoy it. :) Thanks for reading and commenting.**

* * *

Negan stood so long everyone was becoming restless. Stock-still, hands clasped under his chin, pointer fingers placed over his lips. Pensive. Deep in thought. He obviously had something important to say and the Saviors waited on bated breath for what that something was.

But even the most devoted devotees had a cap to their patients. People began to murmur aloud becoming louder and louder. Even Simon, standing off to the side, was beginning to wish for a chair. Everyone else got to sit at least.

Finally, Negan rose a hand, silencing them before returning to the same position, waiting another few moments before speaking.

"I try, my Saviors. You know I try," he spoke urgently, voice straining.

Everyone nodded, though they couldn't have any idea what he was talking about. They were trained to go along with whatever he said.

"Still, for all that I do for you, I get shit on." The air reverberated with his deep bear-like growl. Some, mostly the newest members, jumped. The senior members braced themselves internally, knowing something was coming.

"I try to create a mecca. A sanctuary so you do not have to live amongst the sinners of this world. But what do I get in return?"

"I'm met with disobedience! Defiance! I get disrespected."

He turned his back on the group, as though gathering his temper. He spoke calmer when he turned back around and began again. "We had a visit the other day. Do you all want to know who from?"

There had been rumblings among the group. Rumors, but no one knew exactly what had happened. Those that had been there to witness it, Simon, Mark, and Al, knew better than to say a word to anyone.

"A Sheriff. Came right up to the gate!" He waited for the gasps of confoundment to subside. "You know what that means, right? The jig is up. That Sheriff knows we are here. And do you know how he came to know we are here?"

The people in the room simultaneously shook their heads no.

Negan stepped toward Simon, whispered conspiratorially to him. Simon disappeared down the hall to the right and returned a moment later dragging someone by their arm. He shoved her hard at Negan. Negan caught her by the upper arm, held her up, forced her to face forward, baring her to the crowd. He watched as they went from uncertainty to shock. Even horror. A heinous, feral grin split his face. He wanted them to be horrified by her. Once beautiful, now a shell of herself.

"This is who we have to blame. _Sherry,_" he spat her name, "is the reason we had a visit from the police. Sherry is the reason all of our livelihoods dance in the balance of being taken away by one redneck sheriff."

Sherry peered out at the group of people she once thought of as family. He already had it all figured out; blame her for everything. Make everyone hate her. She shouldn't be shocked he was putting her in the position of fall guy.

"Betrayed! By my own wife." He held her an arm's length away with one strong hand wrapped around her bicep as though he couldn't bear to touch at her. "See, she decided she didn't want to be my wife. But once she got out into the world, she saw how scary and full of sin it was and came running back to me."

This revelation was met by more gasps of shock. Through her foggy mind, Sherry tried to focus on his words. They were more lies. She had no idea what he was referring to. In her short time away from the Sanctuary she didn't come across any sheriff.

She and Dwight thought they were home free once they were off the mountain. It didn't work out that way.

They were planning on ditching Negan's car anyway, just further away from the mountain. When it ran out of gas, Sherry didn't care. She wanted out, no matter what it took to get them there. They walked into town, every step taking them further from Negan.

They stole a truck and almost made it out of whatever little town was at the bottom of the mountain when somehow, who knew how, Simon and a car full of Negan's men descended on them while they sat at the town's only red light.

It was pointless, but she fought them off with everything she had. In the shuffle, she saw Dwight being dragged out of the truck. She tried to scream for him. Someone quickly held their hand over her mouth. She was easily overpowered. They threw Dwight in their car and kept her in the truck and brought her back to the mountain. It was the last time she had seen Dwight.

That was days ago. They kept her in a room, a cement cell in the basement of the main hall below the kitchen.

They drugged her, a jab of a needle in her upper arm, with something that made her sleepy, easy to handle. It made her mind mushy. They withheld food except for a small amount. Whatever it was, it was cold and stale, she ate very little of it. She was constantly cold, only allowed to wear a thin gown. No blankets. No bedding. No shoes. They had chopped her hair.

She could only imagine what she looked like standing in front of everyone. A human example for the people of the Sanctuary of what _not_ to do.

"You can see what the world has done to her," he said, splaying his hand towards her. "But here, unlike out there, I am forgiving. I am your safe haven." The Savior's applauded. "I will not hurt you. Isn't that right, Sherry?"

Sherry almost laughed. It was all so absurd.

He pulled Sherry back to him, stroked her cheek affectionately. "Yes, that's right. All that matters is that you're here now. We'll take care of you. Bring you back to health and then you can take your place once again as my wife."

She squinted her eyes shut when he leaned in and pressed his lips to her temple. This wasn't happening, it all had to be a bad dream. She wanted to scream out. Tell everyone that he was lying but she couldn't. She couldn't formulate the words in her mind and force them to come out of her mouth.

* * *

Negan sat in his high back leather chair, a foot propped up on the edge of his desk. Nonchalantly he smoked a cigar, puffing the smoke into the stale air when Simon knocked on the door to his cabin.

"Everything okay?" Simon asked, after being called inside. He kept his stance by the door in case he needed to make a quick exit. He'd die for Negan. Probably would, in fact, die for Negan, but he didn't want that day to be today or by Negan's own hand.

He gave Simon an incredulous stare.

"Ya' know. I think Sherry learned her lesson. I think she's okay to come out of the cell." Simon suggested, trying to bypass the subject of the sheriff. "Since everyone knows she's here and all." He hadn't expected Negan to bring her out in front of everyone, now that he had, it only made sense that they couldn't keep her locked up anymore.

The cells in the basement were reserved for those people that broke one of Negan's rules. Or for the ones that thought they wanted to leave. They'd spend a few days down there, cold and wet and hungry, they'd come out thankful for a second chance and knew better than to speak of it to anyone.

Negan kicked his feet to the ground and stood, stubbed out his cigar. He fetched his bat, affectionately named Lucille after his dead wife, from where it leaned against the desk. As he swaggered to Simon, he propped it against his shoulder.

"Who are you?" He sneered, and inch from his face.

Simon looked at his boots, knowing better than to look Negan in the eyes when he was in one of his moods. Confused, he asked, "Pardon?"

"God damn it, Simon. Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?"

Perspiration beaded his brow. "Negan. I'm Negan. We all are."

Negan took a step back, "That's right. What is in my best interest is in your best interest. Got it?"

No, Simon didn't get it. But he nodded his head just the same.

Negan went back to his chair, picked up a book and flipped through the pages. He didn't actually read. The books he kept in his cabin were for show to make him seem scholarly and intelligent.

"Go on get Sherry. Let her have a shower because that bitch is rank. Put her back in her cabin, be sure her bunkmate knows she's not to be left alone."

"Yes, Negan." Relieved, Simon turned to leave, his hand on the doorknob.

"Oh, and Simon," Negan said, snapping the book shut. "Find out everything you can about this Sheriff."

* * *

The bookstore quickly became Beth's favorite place other than being home with Daryl. She worked a few days a week but managed to find herself there even on days she had off. When Daryl got a call while they were at lunch in town, she decided to stop in and get the sweatshirt she'd forgotten the last time she was there. She had a limited amount of clothing and didn't want to lose one of the only sweatshirts she owned.

Entering through the backdoor, the comfortable scent of lavender wafted through the air. Carol always had some sort of essential oil wafting through the air thanks to the diffuser she ran all the time.

As she made her way through the darkened backroom, Carol could be heard speaking to someone at the counter. Her words stopped Beth in her tracks.

"Daryl really cares for her. I don't think Beth is that way."

The conversation caught her off guard, so she stopped where she stood and listened for a moment. She thought Carol must have been on the phone since no one spoke in return. Moving again, she stepped quietly as she wound her way through the backroom, past boxes, a desk, and miscellaneous inventory, and then into the area behind the counter. She discovered Carol wasn't speaking on the phone. She was talking to Connie.

Connie's curly hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot. She wore a green army jacket with a striped shirt underneath and blue jeans with holes in the knees. She was fashionable in a casual way. But that wasn't why she made Beth uncomfortable. Connie was one of the only people in town that seemed to go out of her way to ignore her.

Beth reminded herself not everybody had to like her. This wasn't the Sanctuary where everyone's livelihood relied on everyone else's. Besides, she was the new girl in their town. She was the interloper, not Connie.

She thought maybe Connie's dislike for her was just her imagination. Now she was sure it wasn't. No matter what, she didn't like being the apparent subject matter of this conversation. She froze where she stood, wanting to stand up for herself, but not knowing how.

Connie was scribbling something into the notebook she always carried with her to communicate with those that didn't use sign language. When she was through writing, she slapped the pen down on the counter and signed with her hands as if to emphasize the point. Beth didn't know any sign language, Carol seemed to understand what she meant though, and immediately began shaking head no.

"Aw come on now. You haven't even given her a chance," Carol told Connie. It was then that Connie noticed Beth standing in the shadow of the doorway to the backroom. Carol glanced behind her to see what caught Connie's attention. She looked warily at Beth then back to Connie.

Connie sighed sufferably and snatched her bag off the counter, stomping off without looking back.

"Hey there!" Carol said a bit too cheerily. "Didn't think you were coming in today."

She felt her face grow red with embarrassment. They had obviously been talking about her. Well, Carol wasn't necessarily talking about her. It sounded like she was actually defending her.

"I came for my sweatshirt. I think I left it in the chair in the corner."

"Oh, I'll grab that for you," Carol said and shuffled off to the corner of the store needlessly, Beth could have gotten it herself.

Alone at the counter, she noticed Connie had forgotten her notebook. She took a step closer. It's not like she was snooping, it was laying there open after all. The page showing in the pocket-sized notebook was filled up, the last sentence stuck out because it was underlined.

_She's using Daryl!, _was written in bold black letters_. _

Beth felt her stomach drop. Connie thought she was using Daryl? Did others feel the same way? Though she couldn't blame them. Pragmatically thinking, it probably did look that way.

But _was_ she using Daryl? She lived in his house, didn't pay rent. Ate his food. He took her wherever she needed to go if she couldn't walk there herself.

Carol appeared again with Beth's sweatshirt. Noting the notepad on the counter in front of Beth, Carol gave up the facade. She was busted and she knew it. "I'm sorry about that."

"Were they seeing each other before I came here?" Maybe that would explain her disklike of Beth.

"No. As far as I know they weren't. But I think Connie was interested. Daryl's quite the catch," she added, chuckling.

"Do you think I'm using Daryl?" Beth asked.

Immediately Carol shook her head no. "No, I don't. But don't you worry about what Connie or anyone else thinks. She doesn't have anything to do with you and Daryl."

Beth nodded as though it were that simple.

* * *

Beth woke in a panic less and less as time went on. If she did, she was easily calmed by Daryl's presence. But since she gave her statement, she'd hadn't been sleeping well. Add to that her encounter with Connie at the bookstore and she tossed and turned most of the night.

She did her best to not wake Daryl. Unfortunately, though, he was a light sleeper. If she rustled the blankets or got out of bed he was awake. Just like that. He said it was a side effect of being a sheriff. He had to be up and ready to go at any second. That proved to be true the few times he was called out on an emergency since she started living with him.

So when she woke in a panic late one night Daryl knew the drill. She'd need water, he kept a bottle on the nightstand, because her throat would be dry. She'd kick the blankets off because she would have worked up a sweat. Sometimes she wanted to talk, other times she just wanted to lay still until she caught her breath. Sometimes she read to him. It was as soothing to him as it was her. Her voice, soft and hushed, the only sound in the quiet house.

Sometimes, she'd fall back to sleep, but if she couldn't they'd stay up until it was time for Daryl to head off to work. Luckily he survived easily on very little sleep. Sometimes she'd cling to him, needing his touch and they'd end up having sex. Quick and hard or soft and slow. Whatever she wanted, he gladly gave her.

Tonight Beth apparently wanted to talk. She sighed, laid her head on his bare chest. He wound his arm around her shoulders, ran his fingers down her bare shoulder, down her back.

"Do you think about the future?" She questioned out of the blue.

Daryl yawned, adjusted his head against the pillow. "Like what I want for dinner tomorrow? Sure," he teased.

Smiling in the dark, she lightly punched his chest with a loose fist. "You know what I mean." At least she hoped he did.

"I jus' always focus on the day, I guess. When I was in the army it was dicey work. I jumped from place to place. I did my job. If I made it to the next place, great. If not," he shrugged his shoulder.

Even after he took the job as sheriff and it was obvious the job was long term, he never thought ahead much. Until he met Beth.

"And now?" Beth questioned. Connie's words still nagged at her. She wished she could just let them go.

"I don't know, darlin'," he answered honestly. "Things are up in the air right now." The uncertainty unnerved him. He didn't want to pressure Beth. He also didn't want to lose her. She needed to make the decision of being with him for herself.

"There's a small apartment above the bookstore. Carol said I could stay there for cheap if I wanted. I'll find a job other than the bookstore. I can make my own way," she said as a suggestion rather than a statement.

How she would do that, she didn't know. She had no social security number, no birth certificate. Carol currently paid her cash as a favor to Daryl. Any other place of employment would most likely expect her to be a legitimate employee and wouldn't hire her otherwise.

Awake now, he asked, "Why do you wanna' do that?"

"I don't know. Some people might say I'm using you." She chose not to tell Daryl about Connie. She didn't want to cause any unnecessary problems. Beside it was a legit concern. She loved him, she didn't want to use him.

Daryl chuckled at that. "Using me for what? My fancy house? Using me for all the cash I'm raking in as a small town sheriff?"

She rolled her eyes at herself. "I don't want anyone thinking that. And I don't want to overstay my welcome."

"How can I convince you?" He rolled over, his upper half covering hers, kissed her slow and strong, finding his spot in between her legs. Her arms curled naturally around his broad shoulders, her fingers combed into his hair. "I _want_ you here. You understand me? Fuck what anyone else says or thinks. And whatever the future holds we'll figure it out together. You and me."

"I don't know how you can overlook what I've done or where I've been." She was horrified by her own actions, how could Daryl not be?

"I think you were searching for something. I won't pretend to know what that something was, but I understand it. I was chasing something I never found all those years I spent in the army. I did some bad shit during that time."

"But you helped people."

"So did you," he gruffly whispered.

He always knew the right thing to say when her mind was running on overdrive. She tried to keep her thoughts from bubbling up and out of her mouth, but she couldn't help it. She'd been quiet for too long. She'd been told her thoughts don't matter. That _she_ didn't matter.

Watching him through the obscured moonlit room, throat thick with emotion, she whispered, "What if I've been gone too long to find my way back to a normal life? What if I can't find my way back home?"

A grunt sounded deep in Daryl's chest. He ran a hand over her hair, cupped her cheek. "Far as I'm concerned, you are home."

* * *

"Glenn? Hello!" Maggie said, snapping a finger in front of his face. "You're looking at me funny."

They'd been having a conversation about something. He wracked his brain trying to remember because Maggie gets super pissed when he doesn't pay attention. He had gotten distracted by something so simple - Maggie had twirled her hair just so around her finger before tucking it behind her ear. A common tick she always did when she was talking. Now, though, it reminded him of something, or someone, else.

"I'm sorry. I'm a bit distracted by a patient of mine."

"Oh? Tough case?" Maggie was always interested in Glenn's work. Staying at home all day wasn't exactly stimulating. She craved adult conversation. Occasionally, Glenn shared interesting cases with her leaving out the person's name and any identifying factors.

He nodded, took the glass Maggie just rinsed, placed it in the dishwasher. The kids were in bed, whether they were asleep or not was another matter. The short time before he and Maggie had to go to bed was usually spent doing mundane things, such as loading the dishwasher. Or sorting socks. Or watching lame TV. They looked forward to whatever alone time they got and they wouldn't trade their mundane evenings together for anything.

"Yes. Sweet girl. Very unsure about everything. She's got some sort of amnesia or dissociative disorder. Doesn't remember anything past a few years ago."

"Hmm. What caused the break in her memory?"

"I'm not sure. I think it was just too painful to remember. My theory is that she had to forget her past to protect herself in the situation she was in."

"What situation was she in?" Maggie asked, rinsing the last plate from dinner. It was Friday. That meant take out pizza. No pots and pans to wash.

"She joined a cult. Or, a cult-like very controlling group, anyway." He had to be careful to speak in general terms. No locations. No names.

Maggie sucked in a breath. "Well, that sounds heartbreaking."

"Yes, it is." He was watching Maggie out the corner of his eyes. Studying her movements, though it wasn't necessary. He knew her body and how she moved better than his own.

It _had_ to be a coincidence.

Once the dishes were done and the doors were locked and the lights turned out they made their way upstairs. Maggie went to take her nightly shower and Glenn, feeling every bit the sneaky person he was being, quietly, stepping over the floorboards that were known to creak, went into Maggie's walk-in closet.

Just like the rest of the house, it was organized and tidy. Shirts hung by color and length, shortest to longest. Jeans folded neatly over a hanger, were hung along another wall. He could pick any of the drawers in the tall chest tucked into the corner and he'd find everything in order. Her socks would be neatly rolled up in one drawer, his in another. Her underwater and his boxers would even be folded. She said keeping things in an orderly way made her feel calm in a chaotic world. He called it OCD once. That didn't go over well. The memory brought a smile to his face.

What he was after was a box hidden in the bottom drawer of the chest underneath a spare wool blanket. It wasn't large, no bigger than a shirt box, rectangular in shape.

He wasn't snooping exactly, he knew it was there and he knew what was in it. Maggie knew he knew it was there but it wasn't something they talked about. It wasn't something she looked through often reminiscing about her childhood.

Anything that might remind her of Beth, which was everything - even the absence of a person could affect your day to day life - was upsetting, so she avoided the box.

Glenn never asked her about it other than the day they moved in together, she briefly and unemotionally showed him what was in it. Never speaking of it again. Still, the box came with them every time they moved, including when they moved into this home.

He slid the box out from under the blanket and removed the cover. It was probably the only thing that wasn't in an orderly fashion. It held memories from Maggie's childhood all the way up through college. Ribbons from a few horse shows she was in. A few birthday cards she wanted to keep for whatever reason. A dried wrist corsage from her senior prom where she won homecoming queen.

At the bottom, buried under everything else was a stack bound by a rubber band. Careful to make as little noise as possible, he unwound it. On the top of the small bundle was a brief article from a newspaper about a missing young woman that had probably "taken off on her own", the police representative was quoted as saying. There were also a couple of letters Beth had sent to Maggie when she was away at college. Maggie had even printed out and kept a few emails that Beth had sent her during that time. There was nothing earth shattering in them. Just your basic, _Hi, how are things? Miss you. The farm is soooo boring with you gone._

What he was searching for was at the bottom of the stack. A handful of pictures. Maggie didn't keep them in the main photo albums or scrapbooks because it was too difficult to open up a book at any given time to see her sister's beautiful face staring back at her as a reminder of what they'd lost.

Not that Maggie was ever able to forget.

The stack of photos appeared to be in order, from youngest to oldest. The first photo was of a young Maggie holding an infant Beth. There were a few other photos of them with Shawn as well. There was a picture of the five of them when Maggie was a teen and Beth and Shawn were around ten. In another one, Maggie was in the foreground and Beth in the background. Scowling. Not happy.

The last item was a folded up piece of paper. Unfolding it, the word "missing" in large black letters appeared at the top. Underneath was Beth's full name, as well as her height and weight, was listed. The date last seen was a little over five years ago. The photo on the flyer was Beth's senior picture. Her hair was chopped short and it was a yellow-blonde. The color of the sun shining in the evening light.

Glenn's legs suddenly felt weak in the squatting position he held and he sat down hard on the floor.

Angel was an older, more mature version of Beth. While Angel and Maggie looked nothing alike, there were similarities. Maggie's eyes were green, Angel's were blue but they were the same shape. Their chins were also comparable. Mostly, their mannerisms were almost identical.

How could he have been so blind? He'd seen this picture every time he went over to his in-laws house. Sure, the woman that had come into his office twice a week for some time now was thinner and her hair was more white blonde than sunny blonde. But Angel was Beth. He was almost certain of it.

* * *

**I know therapists aren't supposed to talk about their patients but I'm sure it does happen in a vague way. **

**Again, thanks for reading.**


	22. Feel The Hurt

**GracieMae11 I really liked your PDA comment and had to incorporate it somehow. ;) Thanks for the idea.**

**Is it Jesus's or Jesuses' or Jesus'es, or Jesus' or what? None of it looked right. I googled it but was thoroughly confused. Someone help me! lol**

**Thanks so much for reading and commenting! We're starting to get into the thick of things now.**

* * *

There were two people watching Daryl and Beth that they were not aware of. Daryl prided himself on relying on his senses as a hunter, and more importantly, as a sheriff, he really had no idea. Beth thought she was aware too, especially after her stint at the Sanctuary. She thought she'd never let her guard down. As time went on, she did.

People in small towns, though, they watched. Most watched in a curious non-threatening way. Connie was one of them. She saw Daryl and Beth everywhere now, it seemed. Driving through town, Beth riding shotgun in the Bronco like she deserved to be there. As they strolled through town, they didn't hold hands but there was an obvious intimacy between them. At the diner, sitting like a couple of lovebirds at a booth in the back. She wondered caustically why they didn't share one milkshake with two straws. To her, they were sickening. She also was certain Beth was living with him. Shouldn't that be against town policy? He didn't own that house, the town did. Taxpayers paid for it. Everything about their being together - she refused to name whatever it was, pissed her off.

Unfortunately, Connie was the least of their problems. There were more menacing forces lurking through the town than Connie and her envy.

Simon waited in the alleyway of the building of the police station and the pharmacy next door. Casually he leaned against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette. He was hoping to blend into the background but doubted that he would be able to. It was a small town. One where everyone said hello to everybody else. The fact that he didn't live there made him stand out.

He easily found the sheriff and so far had followed him as he went from the office to the diner to get an early morning coffee, to another couple of stops that looked to be more social than official. Simon followed him for a couple of miles as he and that woman partner of his went to a house outside the city limits. Not wanting to get made or lost, Simon turned back around and waited in town for them to return. It wasn't too long later when, through the diner front windows, he saw the Bronco driving down Mainstreet again.

Simon didn't think it was going to be this easy.

By the end of the day and after a lot of running around, trailing far behind, he followed the sheriff to his home, a small run-down house just outside of town. He passed the driveway and drove further down the road parking on the side and walked back to the house through the dark.

He waited outside in the cold, hidden in the trees across the road for a while. The house was lit up but whatever was behind the windows was obscured by a curtain. Occasionally he'd see a shadow pass by. Not just a shadow the size of the sheriff but another smaller shadow. Someone was in there with him.

When it was obvious he was getting nowhere watching from the front, he rounded the house. This angle didn't afford much of a view either. There were only three windows. Two were curtained, one wasn't. Wishing he'd brought binoculars, he got as close as he wanted to risk. The only uncurtained window was the kitchen. He watched as Daryl passed back and forth and then, imagine his surprise when, through that kitchen window, a certain future wife of Negan appeared.

As the average window in any kitchen is situated in front of the sink, he guessed she must have been at the sink. She was looking down, focused on whatever was in front of her. After some time, Daryl came up behind her, kissing her neck.

Simon had seen enough, he had all he needed to report back to Negan.

* * *

Who knew this kind of life could be so simply fulfilling, Daryl, wondered? Working all day, coming home to Beth in the evenings. If they didn't go back out, they'd make dinner together. Hanging out until they went to bed. Have mindblowing sex. Talking, who would have thought that could be enjoyable until he fell asleep with Beth in his arms. A year ago if you'd asked him if he pictured himself set up in this type of situation, he'd look at you like you were insane.

Yet, here he was. In love with a girl that didn't have a past. That didn't matter, he was sure if he had met her at another time, another place, he still would have fallen in love with her.

She may not have a past, but she has a future with him.

In the peripheral of his mind, he figured he'd find someone eventually. Beth made it move from a vague idea to the forefront.

It was absolutely fucking ridiculous. She had no idea how he even felt. On that same note, he had no idea how she felt about him. He wished he was one of those people that could just say what was on his mind. He opened his mouth to tell her many times, but in a funny turn of events, he was the one that suddenly became mute.

All this was running through his mind as he sat kicked back at the kitchen table watching Beth's backside as she was filling the sink with hot water and soap. He was exhausted from the week, but happy. Genuinely happy. Michonne was on call and the prospect of a quiet weekend with Beth sounded ideal to him.

He stood and went to Beth, sliding his arms around her waist, pinning her against the counter with his body. He swiped her hair to the side, nibbling at the base of her neck. She sighed and leaned back into him.

"What do you think you're doin'?" She asked playfully.

"Nothin'," he answered innocently, his voice muffled against her skin.

"Doesn't feel like nothing to me." She pressed her butt against his middle, feeling his dick hardened against her.

"We can do the dishes later," he said, reaching around her and shutting off the faucet. He took her by the hand and made her face him, kissing her hard. She leaned up on her toes, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"What do you suggest we do instead?" She asked, pulling back, looking into his eyes, the color, and clarity of tropical water.

"Oh, I can think of a couple a' things." His hand ran along her hip, up and under her flannel shirt, cupping her braless breast. Teasing the nipple to a point and making Beth moan.

Without breaking the kiss, he began walking backward, out of the kitchen into the living room. He paused when he hit the back of the couch, tempted to strip her and go at it right there on the floor, but he decided he'd force himself to make it the next few steps to the bedroom. That way they could make love properly. Antaginozingly slow, until she begged him to make her come.

They'd almost made it to the hallway when there was a sharp knock on the door. He ignored it.

Beth laughed against his lips, "Uh, there's someone at the door." He moved from her mouth and trailed down her neck, sucking at the skin just above her collarbone. It took Daryl a second or two to register what she said or that someone was knocking and another second more to pull away from Beth.

"Damn, whoever it is has horrible timing. Hold that thought, " he told Beth and untangled himself and went to the door.

Moving the front window curtain to the side, he saw Michonne's vehicle in the drive. "Shit,'' he grumbled. This probably wasn't going to be good.

He opened the door for her and Michonne entered without a word. Her long dreaded hair was pulled up in a twisted bun, her police issued jacket was zipped up to her chin. Her gun, in its holster on her hip. In a few second's assessment, he determined nothing was wrong with her personally. That made him feel marginal relief.

She nodded at Beth and looked back to Daryl, her brow was furrowed with worry.

"What is it?" He asked gruffly, she may have been physically okay, but something was definitely amiss.

For the first time since he'd known Michonne, she hesitated. "I thought you'd wanna' know, so I came to tell you in person," she began. "It's Jesus. He was in an accident."

"What?" Daryl asked, anger sudden and sharp.

Gasping, Beth walked to Daryl and slid her hand in his. "Is he hurt?" She asked, then frowned at her own words. Of course he was hurt or else Michonne wouldn't be here.

"He's alive. That's about all the doctors can tell us now."

"He was drunk?" Daryl asked. This was his fault, he had let his watch over Jesus slip.

"I know what you're thinking, but this isn't your fault," she said voicing his exact thoughts. She knew how he took personal responsibility for Jesus.

"Just answer the question," he bellowed. Letting Beth's hand drop he went to the door where he discarded his boots when he got home.

She didn't bat an eye against his tone. "Yes, according to the bartender he was at the bar all afternoon," Michonne answered. "He ran off the road, hit a ditch and flipped his truck. He was thrown from it. He was transferred from County Hospital by ambulance. I figured you want to know and I didn't want you to hear it from someone else."

Daryl slipped on one boot, began lacing it up. Looking back up at Michonne, he nodded. "You're right. Thank you for lettin' me know," he spoke more calmly now. "I'll head there now, check on him and see if I can get the doctors to tell me anything more."

As far as Daryl knew Jesus's parents weren't close by meaning he'd be alone. He didn't want that.

Once Michonne delivered the news, she left to tend to other business. Beth quickly changed into something other than Daryl's old threadbare flannel shirt and yoga pants and met him at the door, slipping on her shoes.

"What are you doin'?" Daryl asked Beth as he grabbed his coat off the hook by the door. Finding his keys inside the pocket.

"I'm going with you." She said, pulling a hoodie over her head.

"Beth," Daryl began.

She ignored him and opened the door, the cold air felt good on her face. He rested his hand over hers on the doorknob.

"It sounds like he's in bad condition. It'll probably be upsetting to you."

She sighed, he was always protecting her. But sometimes she didn't need so much protection.

"I'll be fine," she said unwaveringly. Just as he didn't want Jesus to be alone, she didn't want Daryl to be alone. "I'm going with you."

He stood still for a moment, watching Beth. Reading the stubborn look of her face. "Come on, we're wasting time," she finally told him. Taking his hand, she pulled him out the door with her.

* * *

Jesus was alive, that's about all Daryl could say. He was unconscious. Tubes entered and exited every visible patch of skin. He was breathing on his own, which the doctor was encouraged by. The right side of his face was a giant bruise. His forehead contorted outward at an unnatural angle.

The doctors were a little freer with information because Daryl flashed his badge, making it seem like it was a part of an official investigation of the accident and not that he was just a person concerned about his friend. They said it was a waiting game. Only time would tell if the swelling on his brain would go down. They had to wait and see when, and if, he'd wake up.

On top of the concussion and damage to his face, he had a broken arm and leg. If he did wake up, he was in for a world of hurt.

_Wake up you dumbass, and feel that hurt. Maybe you'll learn your lesson, _he told him once he was sitting next to his bed.

Beth sat in a plastic chair in the corner of the small room, giving Daryl his space. She'd wait as long as he needed.

They had entered through the emergency room. The hospital was pure chaos and if she allowed it to, it would have overwhelmed her. So much pain and suffering. But this was her chance to be there for Daryl like he was there for her time and time again. So she swallowed the panic and followed Daryl through a maze of halls and corridors and up an elevator to Jesus's room.

There was a strange familiarity. The uncomfortable smell of cleaner and sadness. Desperation. The blinding fluorescent lights in the hallway versus the dim lights of the room. The constant in and out of nurses and doctors. The ever-present sounds of muffled voices, of beeping machines.

For some reason, it made Beth want to run. She felt claustrophobic. Trapped. But she only had to look at Daryl to feel a calm returning. She watched as he pulled up a plastic chair and sat next to Jesus's bed. Mumbling a sentence or two she couldn't quite make out, then he watched silently as his friend fought for his life.

Beth settled in for a long night.

* * *

Exhaustion eventually got the better of her. Daryl still sat in the chair next to Jesus's bed, staring at him intently as though he could wake him up by sheer intimidation. Daryl was pissed, but more so he was hurting. His firm frown didn't fool her.

She stuffed Daryl's jacket between her head and the plastic armrest, tucking her legs up underneath her. The beeping of one of the machines lulled her into a fitful sleep.

_Beep, Beep, Beep._

Sometime later, white light haloed the peripheral of her vision. Blinking she tried again. Yellow walls, a big window mirrored black against the night sky. Voices echoed in the distance. Frightened and unsure where she was, she tried sitting up. A warm hand lightly weighted her shoulder back down.

_She_ was in the hospital bed now, not Jesus.

"Don't try 'n sit up. You just rest sweetheart," a kind voice soothed. The hand moved from her shoulder to her hair, smoothing it down. The arm was connected to a woman with long silver hair. She had a kind face with laughing lines at the corners of her mouth. Warm, dark eyes, watery with tears, peered down at her worriedly. This woman, without a doubt, was her mother.

Beth cleared her throat, tried to speak. Her voice was froggy, her throat parched. "Where am I? What's goin' on?"

"You're in the hospital," the woman said quietly as though she wanted to soften the blow.

"Hospital? Why?" Wasn't Jesus the one in the hospital? She was only visiting. Why was she in the bed? She fought against the brain fog. Closing her eyes and opening them again, forcing her mind to clear. She pushed lightly against the woman's hand and sat up. Her head swam, but she fought past it.

She lifted her left hand to push back her much shorter hair. Her right wrist was bandaged with white gauze, secured with medical tape. Her other hand? It was also bandaged but bound by a leather restraint tied to the railing of the bed. She yanked her arm, pulling at the brace. A sharp pain shot from the bandage up her arm.

"What the hell is this?" She asked, hysteria edging her voice.

"Bethy, you gotta calm down now," a male voice this time. She looked to her left finding the source of this voice. A man sat in a chair next to the bed. White hair, full beard. Kindness in his eyes.

Her father.

"Why am I here?" She asked again, though her throbbing wrist answered the question for her. The memory of the event came back as sharp as the pain.

She'd slit her wrist with a shard of glass after punching the bathroom mirror. The details were cloudy, bouncing around her mind slowly. She had been upset. Angry. Nothing was going her way. No boyfriend. No real friends. She hated school. What was the point of it all, she had wondered.

Annette sat next to her on the bed, enveloping her with a strong motherly embrace. Rocking her gently back and forth.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized tearfully to her parents. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

Hershel moved from his chair and sat next to Annette on the side of the bed, patted Beth's knee affectionately. "We'll talk about all this later, right now you just need to focus on getting better."

* * *

"Beth? Beth, wake up." Someone was shaking her shoulder. Talking quietly.

She sat up straight, fully awake in a second. She grasped her right wrist in her left hand, it was no longer bound. Neither were still bandaged. A sigh of relief escaped her lungs. She was grateful to be pulled from that dream. Seeing the hurt and confusion she'd caused in her parent's eyes was too much.

Daryl stood above her. "Ready to go? It's almost dawn."

She felt her wrist for that raised white line. A scar. Now she knew from where it came.

* * *

Though Jesus was still unconscious, he was showing small signs of improvement. Whatever that meant. He looked the same to Daryl. He was still unconscious and looked like he'd been run over by a train. He and sometimes Beth, spent the majority of the weekend going back and forth to the hospital an hour away.

After the exhaustive weekend, Monday came around and Daryl had work to focus on. Due to Beth's statement, he was able to obtain a warrant from the town's only judge rather quickly. He was now legally able to go to the Sanctuary. Though he wanted to spend his days waiting for Jesus to wake up, he had to focus on the next steps required to take Negan down.

Negan didn't do anything directly to Beth that was illegal that she can remember, you can't arrest someone for being psychologically abusive, she did give them information on _possible_ abuses happening on the grounds of the Sanctuary.

Because he knew that was exactly what she'd do, worry, he promised Beth everything would be fine. Nothing was going to go awry. This visit was not for Negan, it was for the innocent men, women, and children that resided there. Today the plan was only talking with Negan's people, getting a better feel for the situation.

Unless they saw blatant acts of abuse, nothing would happen that day. Not to say nothing would come of it in the coming days or weeks as the investigation continued and once CPS decide whether or not action needed to be taken. It was not his intention to go in there guns blazing.

He wanted to be sure he had all his bases covered, so he brought his small cavalry in. Along with two CPS officials, Daryl and Michonne and their two part-time officers were on the figurative front steps of the Sanctuary bright and early.

They were in for a long day, and Daryl couldn't wait to get it started.

* * *

Of course Beth was going to worry. How could she not? Daryl was running off into no man's territory on her behalf. Yes, it was his duty as the sheriff but she doubted he'd be going there if it wasn't for her. Sooner or later he might have found out they were there and been curious enough to check it out, but that was a big maybe. They'd been there for years without anyone knowing. As far as she was concerned if something went wrong it'd be no one's fault but her own.

Telling Daryl about her dream at the hospital was out of the question. He didn't need her extra baggage hanging around his neck. So she stuffed it down along with everything else.

Needing to direct the pent up tension some way, she cleaned the entire house. Not just your regular vacuum, dust, scrub the toilet. She swept the corners of the ceiling in each room where the cobwebs sneakily collected. She ran a rag along the baseboards and the window sills. She got on her hands and knees and scrubbed the old linoleum kitchen floor until it shined.

She washed the bedding and was putting the extra set of sheets away in the bedroom closet when she noticed more cobwebs. _Did Daryl ever clean?_ Grabbing the broom, she batted at them, knocking a box down from the upper shelf. Papers and photos came raining down on her head.

_Shit, _she whispered aloud, bending to pick up the scattered debris from the floor_. _They appeared to be paperwork, insurance documents, a rental agreement, mixed with a few old photos. The old photos were what interested her the most.

It was clear which photos were of Daryl. His hair was a bit lighter but he sported that unmistakable half-grin. In one photo he was young, maybe five, standing proudly next to a deer carcass, holding a compound bow. In another picture an older boy, Beth guessed to be Merle, held his arm tightly, probably a little too tightly, around his neck. Merle smiled mischievously. Another picture was of the two boys with a woman with long dark hair, bell-bottoms and bare feet planted in the dirt. A cigarette was pinched between her lips. She was looking down at the boys who stood in front of her. Was this Merle and Daryl's mother? It had to be.

It melted her heart a bit. She was rough looking, in all honesty, it was evident she didn't have an easy life, but she affectionately looked on at her rambunctious boys. The photo's made Beth want to know more about this picture, more about Daryl's life. All of it.

The photos had a strange effect on her. They made her want to make a life with him. A life with rambunctious mischievous boys and maybe a blonde little girl. All of them would have Daryl's eyes…

* * *

Daryl expected a bit more resistance but once he procured the warrant, Simon let them through with a reluctant nod of the head. There was nothing any of them could do. As Beth said, Negan was crazy, not stupid and Simon just seemed resigned.

They had driven up in two vehicles. Daryl and the part-time officers in the Bronco and Michonne with the social works in another. As they drove up the winding path, which was no better than the road itself, the compound came into view. Buildings were set in a row on each side of the path. A larger building was placed in the center. A community hall, maybe?

Some, leary of their unannounced visitors, reluctantly came from every direction. Others retreated to the little huts that served as their homes, still, others came from the main building. Children ran about. The ones too young to realize the ramifications of who they were reacted with excitement. It wasn't every day they had new people on this side of their gates.

And then there was Negan. Strolling casually up the path in a black leather coat and red scarf, as though he were some sort of defunct James Dean. The same bat he'd had before was propped against his shoulder.

"Well, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Negan questioned as Daryl exited the Bronco. His words could be misconstrued as kindness but his face told a different story. He frowned. Almost pouting, like a little child that didn't get his way.

"You brought a whole entourage didn't you?" Negan asked when he noticed the other vehicle. He leaned in conspiratorially, yet whispering loudly enough for everyone that had gathered around to hear. "Were you afraid to come by yourself? Had to bring a bunch of womenfolk and elderly men with ya?"

Daryl didn't take the bait. "You've met my partner, Deputy Hawthorne. This is CPS workers, Denise Cloyd and Jadis McIntosh."

"Now, now," Negan strode toward Jadis.

She wore a grey sensible suit with a black wool coat. Sensible grey flats, that would no doubt be covered in mud by the end of the day. Negan looked her up and down. "Ain't you an amazonian beast of a woman."

Her straight spine and blunt banged bobbed hair cut as well as the suite portrayed her for the no-nonsense, no bullshit social worker she was. Daryl has been impressed by her the few times they had to work together. Social works could get a bad reputation. Not Jadis, she did her job and did it well. There was no doubt in his mind she could handle the likes of Negan. She probably ate men like him for breakfast on a regular basis.

She didn't back down. "My name is Ms. McIntosh. And I'd prefer if you'd keep your distance while we do our investigation."

"Aww, all businesses and no pleasure?" Negan asked, affronted. But he backed off.

Denise was a little softer than her counterpart and so Daryl took a casual step toward her when Negan fixed her with his stare. She wore more sensible clothing. Jeans and boots with a blazer.

"And you?" He said with a comical grin spread his face, making Darly want to punch it off his face. Negan motioned with his hands a circular motion. "There's a bit more to you, ain't there?"

Denise opened her mouth in rebuttal but before she could, Daryl slapped the paperwork he held against Negan's chest, gave a slight shove.

"This is a search warrant. It states we can look over the grounds and speak with your people. Make sure everything is in accordance with the law."

Negan took the paperwork and handed it off to Simon, who never seemed to be far off.

"You can't get a warrant without probable cause. Mind sharing with me what that probable cause might be?" He was no longer grinning. It was almost as good as whipping the grin off his face with his fists.

"We've had a complaint filed against you," Daryl answers vaguely.

* * *

**Yes, I know they call Jadis Annie now. But I like the name Jadis. ;)**

**Thanks again for reading.**


	23. Tears That Didn't Fall

**Thanks so much for reading! ****Obviously I'm glazing over the whole CPS thing. There is much more to it than that. ;)**

* * *

They split up. Michonne and the part-timers searched the premises, looking for, well, anything that might be out of sorts or incriminating. Daryl kept an eye on everyone. Simon was sequestered in the kitchen area. Last Daryl saw he was casually sitting on a barstool at the counter, playing Solitaire with a deck of cards. Daryl got the feeling he didn't really care what happened, or what was to became of this.

People still meandered about, going about their business, avoiding Daryl and his team like they didn't exist. Only speaking to them if they had to. Negan paced around. He watched closely as Denise and Jadis sat down with each and every child and their mother.

Daryl was worried Negan's presence would no doubt sway what they say. They'd be less likely to openly talk if he was there, so Daryl asked him to leave and accompanied him to his own cabin. He wasn't about to leave him alone while all this was going on.

"This is quite the set up you got here," Daryl stated, staying by the open door. It was cold, but he wasn't closing it to be trapped in the small space with Negan.

"Yep," he said, sitting casually in the high back chair near the fireplace. "You're wasting your time. Nothing illegal is going on here. Everyone wants to be here and is here of their own volition."

"It's not a waste of time to make sure everyone is safe."

"I wouldn't peg you to be such a good boy," Negan chuckled.

This was comical, no one in his entire life has thought of him as being a good boy. Except for Merle. But that was just brotherly teasing.

"So, why do this?" Daryl asked, not wanting himself to be the topic of discussion.

"What?" Negan asked.

"This. Keeping all these people up here."

"I'm not keeping them here," he protested. There was a slight annoyance in his words. His boot began bouncing where it was propped up on his knee. With impatience? With aggression? With nerves? Daryl wasn't sure.

"You see, your problem is not that you think I'm keeping people here against their will. Your problem is you don't understand. People are by and large afraid of what they don't understand."

"Tell me, what don't I understand," Daryl said. He couldn't wait to hear the line of bullshit Negan had in mind. He wasn't afraid of anything. In fact, he had no time for fear. He acted, did the next thing that needed to be done and moved on. Still, he was interested in what Negan _thought_ he didn't understand and especially what Negan_ thought_ he was afraid of.

"Putting your life in a greater power," he said simply as though that explained it all.

Daryl lit a cigarette, leaned against the door jam. Breathed in, breathed out. "Care to elaborate?"

"You come up to my mountain and see us living differently than you do. You, with your pea-sized brain, thinks no one would want to live this way so it must be wrong. Right?" He grinned at Daryl, showing perfectly straight brilliantly white teeth. In the back of his mind, Daryl wondered if he snuck down the mountain and went to the dentist regularly.

"You don't know shit 'bout me." He wasn't going to tell him he grew up on this very mountain, no way. "_You_ can live whatever way you want. But when ya' bring innocent people into it, we," he pointed from himself to Negan, "got a problem."

"Is that a threat?"

"No. It's a fact."

Negan chuckled again, throwing his head back. "I'm telling you, you won't find a thing on me. I'm squeaky clean. Hell, I even pay my taxes on time. Every spring. And every damn fall."

Daryl flicked his cigarette out the door onto the pathway. He doubted Negan wouldn't know that'd be one of the first things Daryl checked out. If tax evasion was enough to bring Capone down, it's enough to bring a tyrannical cult leader down too.

"Uh-huh, not only do you pay it on time, you pay it with cash. You wouldn't happen to be getting all that money from your people would you?"

"Hey, if they choose to contribute to something they believe in, I can't stop them."

"Something they believe in?" Daryl asked skeptically. "More like something they're brainwashed into believing."

Negan made a tisk-tisk noise this his tongue. "The mind is a feeble, malleable thing. People are weak. I simply lead them. I give them the direction they crave."

Daryl scoffed scornfully. "Direction? To this hell hole? Who would want to live here? He spent a good part of his childhood dirt poor in a shack similar to the ones these people live in, at least he had the freedom to roam wherever he wanted. To come and to go. To do whatever the hell he wanted.

Even though the thought of Beth being stuck up here angered him deeply, the last thing he needed was to get into a tit for tat with a crazy man, so he turned his back on him and stepped outside before Negan had a chance to respond. He watched as people shuffled along. They were dressed in long white dresses and long wool coats. There was a lack of men, he noticed. The women and children far outnumbered them. They were no doubt scared and unsure of what was going on or what will happen next. They whispered to one another as they walked past him. Looked at him wearily, giving him a wide berth.

To them, he was the bad guy, not Negan. He tried not to let it bother him, but it did. He didn't want to uproot their lives, he just wanted them to be safe.

A woman with a child on her hip and a toddler following walked up to a nearby cabin, really, nothing more than a ramshackle structure, and knocked. As the mother briefly entered the cabin the boy stayed outside, eyeing Daryl curiously.

Daryl squatted down, smiled warmly. "Hey there. What's your name?" Maybe he could bring that tiny bit back to Beth, the name of a boy with black hair and striking dark eyes. Something so simple would mean so much to her.

The boy took a hesitant step toward him, holding something in his chubby small hand.

"Whatcha' got there?"

The boy held out a green plastic army figure. Daryl took it from him. Inspected it carefully. "Wow, that's a mighty fine soldier."

The boys' eyes lit up and he smiled shyly.

"Eli," Negan sounded from behind Daryl. The boy stiffened, looked past Daryl's shoulder and up at Negan. "Where is your mother?"

He glanced back at Daryl and Daryl winked at the boy before handing his toy back to him. He scampered off, disappearing into the house his mother had gone a moment before.

_Eli_. With the dark hair and eyes. He cataloged that away. For Beth.

* * *

"Find anything?" Daryl asked Michonne when after a long day, they reconvened at the vehicles.

Daryl didn't find any more information out from Negan while he was keeping watch over him. Didn't really expect that he would. He hoped the others had more luck.

"Nope. Nothing," she said, a disappointing ring to her voice.

"I didn't figure you would."

"I told everyone I spoke with they are free to come with us today. No one wanted to." Denise added in a hushed tone. "No one appeared to be harmed in any physical way. Other than being a little on the thin side."

"Their home accommodations leave something to be desired. But they each have clean bedding and proper heating." It was true. Daryl inspected a few of the cabins himself, they were all neat and orderly. Their beds were even made equivalent to his military days. "The children are well-spoken, if not a little reluctant of us," Jadis said, bringing a sad smile to her face.

"And their educational needs are being met, in a perfunctory way. Every woman that has children is said to be above eighteen, though there is no proof. No one had any identification. I entered everyone into a database. I'll compile a list of ages to go with those names in my report. There is nothing we can right now."

Daryl expected as much, still, he had hoped.

"Well enough stocked pantry too. I imagine in the warmer months they have quite a garden. It's not uncommon for those who live up here to live this way," Denise said.

Daryl nodded. This much he knew. First hand.

Before leaving, he informed Negan they'd be in touch at some point. Negan didn't appear to be listing or care what he was saying anyway.

They loaded back up, he and the other officers in the Bronco, another cigarette hanging from his lips. Michonne with Denise and Jadis getting situated in the other vehicle.

"One more thing," Negan said, oozing faux charm. He sprinted up to the driver's side window, leaned in and said, "One more thing. Tell me," he paused for added effect, "is Angel as excellent of a lay as I think she is?"

Daryl saw red. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"Angel, or whatever her real name is, I bet she's a _gooood_ fuck."

Daryl was out of the Bronco and had Negan slammed against it by the neck in less than a second. A million thoughts sped through his mind. He knows? He knows of his involvement with Beth? Panic mixed with the reddened anger. Where was Beth right now? Was she safe? Daryl hadn't talked to her since he left her at the house. As far as Daryl knew, he didn't pose an immediate threat. Apparently, he was wrong.

Simon stood off to the side a hand resting on the butt of the handle of a long knife strapped to his belt. Yet he didn't make a move. Michonne reacted quickly, squeezing herself between Negan and Daryl.

"Daryl, don't do this. You don't want to mess everything up over this piece of shit." She grasped his wrist with her hand, caught his eye. "I know you want to, but this is what he wants. He wants you to slip up. Come on. Let go."

Calm returned as suddenly as it had left his body only a moment before. He allowed Michonne to pull his had from Negan's neck and he stepped away. Michonne was right, he didn't want to put everything at risk because of Negan. Not his job, and definitely not the case that he _will_ inventively build against Negan - he'd find _something_ to send his ass to jail. But first, he had to get home and make sure Beth was okay and then get her someplace safe.

Before he got back in the vehicle, he leaned in an inch from Negan's face and said, "You better watch your mouth Sunshine. Cop or no cop, you lay one hand on her and I'll kill you."

* * *

He sped as fast as he dared back home, dropped the part-time officers back at the station, gave Michoone a quick nod before speeding back out of the parking lot.

Beth heard his truck barreling down the road. It was unusual. Unless he was heading out on an emergency, he rarely went over the speed limit. The roar of his truck had her standing from the kitchen table and going to the front window. Sure enough, the Bronco was speeding down the road toward the house.

She went to the door, watched through the screen as he parked and hurried up the front steps, bypassing the first two. She held open the door for him and once he was in the house, he slammed it shut. He grabbed her, holding her tight in his arms. He breathed in her scent. He'd been outside most of the day, but Negan's parting words left him feeling strangled. Claustrophobic. Kissing her hard, it felt like he'd been gone for a month instead of nine hours.

"Are you okay?" She questioned, sensing something there, hanging heavily on him. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine, but we gotta problem."

Needless to say, Beth fought him. She didn't want to leave him. Didn't want to leave the town, their home, didn't want to leave what they had created. She pleaded with him to let her stay. She said she'd stay with him every waking minute, knowing that couldn't be done. Even when she was staying at the station, she was often alone. She declared she could handle herself. That she wasn't stupid, she knew to watch her surroundings.

That might be true, he knew she was smart. But Negan was no one to be messed with and her safety wasn't worth risking. Daryl was sure he was a psychopath, a literal psychopath and while Simon was subdued today, Daryl had no doubt he would do anything Negan told him to. If Negan knew she was with him, he could easily take her whenever Daryl wasn't watching. The idea alone sent panic slicing through him.

He argued his point. Keeping her safe was his number one concern. His words fell on deaf ears. She felt betrayed, and rightfully so. He was supposed to keep her safe, promised her as much and now he was sending her away.

Through tears that he didn't dare let fall, he tried to explain that he didn't want to let her go. But keeping her there with him was selfish. She needed to go where she'd be safe.

When she finally gave in, realized he wasn't going to give up or change his mind, she became small and defeated and hurt, too much like the girl she'd been when he found her. She quietly packed her bag and sat silently in the Bronco as he drove her back up the mountain to Merle.

He watched behind them to be sure they weren't followed and by the time they made it back up the mountain it was dark as pitch. Snow silently fell, little specks of white in the darkness.

Beth didn't tell him goodbye. Walked right past him with a fixed stare and into the house bypassing his hand that he stretched out, hoping to catch her.

He had to let her go.

* * *

Merle witnessed their interaction as he stood a few feet off at the woodshed, lit by the woodstove he was feeding with large chunks of oak. He whistled sharply, shaking his head.

"Oh, lil' miss is pissed at you."

"No shit," Daryl mumbled, stomping over to him. Lit yet another smoke, blew it into the biting wind. Daryl went on to explain what had happened that day and what Negan said.

"So, can she stay here for a while?" He asked Merle.

"How the fuck do you think he found out she's with you?"

"Hell if I know. He's got spies everywhere probably. It's my fault for not being more diligent," Daryl mumbled, pulling his coat closed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Can she stay? Keeping her with me is askin' for trouble. She's just property to that crazy bastard. He'll do anything to get her back if for no other reason to prove he can."

Yes, proximity wise she was closer to Negan. They wouldn't expect her to be there of all places, practically right under their noses. He could count on Merle. He would keep her safe. He didn't leave the property much except to hunt, he'd be able to keep a close eye on things.

"Yeah, no problem," Merle nodded. "I'm sure Andrea would like the company."

* * *

In his small home office in the back of the house, Glenn poured over the notes he had on his patient that went by the name of Angel. He was digging for anything to disprove what he knew was to be true and wasn't yet ready to admit.

He sighed, tossed his pen onto his desk atop the open folder, leaned back in his chair. He compared the photo Sheriff Dixon had given him from the first days she was in his custody and the picture on her missing poster. He'd scanned the missing poster and printed it out, tucking the one he found in Maggie's memory box away just as he had found it.

He stared at the two photos until his eyes blurred. He was all but certain it was Beth. It had to be. He should be happy, exhilarated even. Beth is back after being missing and feared dead for over five years.

Reading over his scribbled notes, he'd written how Angel/Beth was in a delicate place. She was stronger than the first sessions they'd had, yet she was still very unsure about who she was and her place in the world. If he went to her with this information it could make her regress and cause another bought of amnesia. On the other hand, keeping this knowledge to himself was unethical from a doctor's point of view. And what about Maggie? His heart ached for his wife and what she'd gone through as well as Annette and Hershel and Shawn. At the very least, they deserved to know Beth was alive.

"Daddy!" Little Hershel came bursting through the door of his office, jumping on his lap. Wrapping one arm around his son, he quickly shut the folder with Beth's information on it and shoved it down in the bottom drawer of the desk a second before Maggie entered, toting Anna Beth.

"Hey babe, you about done with work? We're ready for some family time," Maggie said, looking at him pointedly.

That was code for, _get your nose out of your work and help me with the kids. H_e nodded, a little too eagerly, hoping the guilt he felt didn't show on his face. He swung Hershel into the air, catching him, he sent him into hysterics.

"Sure! What movie are we going to watch tonight?"

Glenn prided himself on his honesty. He and Maggie had a solid relationship and he never lied to her. Though he was bound by doctor-patient confidentiality, counseling your missing sister-in-law was a definite conflict of interest. One thing he knew for certain, if he kept this to himself, in all likelihood it would be detrimental to his marriage and to his relationship with his in-laws. He couldn't sit on this much longer.

"How's the baby?" He asked. Shawn's girlfriend, Sam, had delivered the baby earlier in the week. Maggie went to see them that morning.

"Perfect. Tiny. You forget how small they are."

"Yeah. You do," he agreed, placing a comforting hand on her leg as they sat together on the couch as Toy Story 4 played for what felt like the millionth time since it came out.

She didn't need to say it. He knew how every happy occasion was marred by the absence of Beth.

* * *

"She don't wanna talk to you," Andrea told Daryl before he even got a word out when he entered the house. It was late and the house was dark and quiet. Beth was nowhere to be seen. Andrea stood next to the fire, rocking the newest member of their family back and forth. They had named the baby Miriam.

"She's pissed," Andrea stated the obvious.

"I guess she can be. It's for her safety," Daryl lamely explained. "Where is she?"

Andrea shook her head. "Just leave her be. Come back in a couple days when she's had time to cool off."

He hated it, but Andrea was right. Beth wasn't going to see his side of things through the betrayal she was currently feeling. He went to Andrea and placed his hand over the sleeping baby's bald head. Soft and warm under his calloused hand.

"Tell her I'm sorry and that I," _I love her._ No. Now was not the time. Beth didn't need to hear those words through another person. "Just tell her I'm sorry 'n I'll be back."

Andrea nodded and he placed his lips gently to the baby's forehead, breathing in her sweet innocence. She smelled faintly of Castile soap and lavender. It caused unexpected emotion to roll through him, reminding him of when he was a kid and his mother would force him into the tub.

His heart was heavy as he took that long and silent ride home.


	24. Omitted Lies

**Thanks for reading and commenting. :)**

* * *

Facing the future as well as an unknown amount of time away from Beth was an upsetting blow. Knowing it was the right decision didn't make leaving her at Merle's any easier. It _had_ to be the right thing. Daryl had no other options as far as he could figure. The more miles he put between himself and Beth, the more an empty cold ache seeped into his bones.

What he wouldn't give for a beer. Or six. The drunk inside of him said, _what's one drink? It's been a long time, you deserve something to ease the stress_. Driving through town, he slowed past the town's only bar. Through the large front window, a few patrons sat at the bar, talking to one another, or staring at the television in the upper corner. No one would say anything. Not many people knew of his struggles with alcohol once he left the army. He could easily park, go inside. Order a drink and that'd be that. Years of sobriety down the drain.

His mouth watered for that cold bitter taste.

His more logical side knew that the alcohol wouldn't fix anything. Not only wouldn't it fix anything, it'd make things worse. He sighed heavily and continued to drive past the bar.

He wanted a drink, but couldn't. He wanted Beth with him, but she couldn't be. He did not want to go back home right now either. Returning to the house wouldn't help his disposition any. The house would be dark and cold and worst of all, void of Beth.

Instead of going home, he decided to go to the hospital and check on Jesus. No sleep for the wicked, he supposed.

By the time he got to the hospital, it was late, well past visiting hours. No one batted an eye when he entered the quiet corridor that Jesus' room was down. He wore his jacket with the badge on the arm that said Sheriff. He guessed that was all he needed to get around the rules.

He quietly slipped into Jesus' dim room and to his surprise and intense relief Jesus was awake. Still out of it and groggy, but awake. The bruises on his face were turning from black to dark purple, his arm was in a sling and his leg in a cast. He smiled weakly at Daryl when he pulled a chair up next to his bed.

"Hey, lookit you. You're awake."

"I feel like shit," Jesus grumbled. He sounded weak with an underlying of defeat.

"Ya' kinda' look like shit too," Daryl chuckled.

Jesus nodded, closed his eyes as though it hurt to keep them open. "I really fucked things up this time."

"You're alive. As long as you're still breathing, it's a good day," Daryl cringed at his own words. He didn't want to skim over what Jesus might be thinking or feeling. Still, he wasn't going to let his friend beat himself up at what was probably one of the lowest points of his life.

Daryl thought Jesus had dozed back off. Eyes remaining closed, he was silent for a few moments. But then he mumbled again. "I wished they woulda' finished the job."

Alarm bells sounded in Daryl's head. "Don't talk like that. Who would keep me on my toes if you weren't around?" He tried a lame attempt at a joke. He hoped it was all the medications they had Jesus doped up on that was doing the talking, that he didn't really feel that way.

Jesus opened his eyes, looked hazily at Daryl. "Na'," he slurred. "You'll marry Blondie, have kids. You'll have plenty to keep you on your toes."

Daryl couldn't hold back the sad smile. Being married to Beth sounded like a good deal to him. He wasn't about to admit it aloud. Just yet. He'd spent so much time moving around, he never thought that life was for him. Now he wanted it with a fierceness he didn't fully understand.

"You'll have that too one day." Daryl was at a loss for what to say. "If that's what you want."

"Easy for you to say." Jesus lifted his good arm, weakly swatting at the air as though pushing the words away. "Don't you get it? That life's for you, not me."

Jesus was becoming agitated. A monitor beeped out his accelerating heart rate. "Hey, calm down a little," Daryl tried to sooth. "Just rest, we'll talk later."

Jesus opened his mouth like he had more to say but stopped himself. He sighed, drained of what little energy he had left and settled back down.

"Hey, I don't suppose ya' can get me some water? Feel like I haven't drank in days."

"Yeah, sure no problem," Daryl said, standing. He filled up the plastic pink pitcher with water from the sink set up in the wall and took it back to Jesus and held it while he took a sip out of the straw.

He mumbled a thanks and Daryl returned it to its place on the table next to the bed. They sat in companionable silence. Hospitals had a different feel at night. More desperation, heavier sadness.

"What did you mean earlier? You said you wished _they_ would have finished the job." It was probably the heavy medications they had him on. There was something about Jesus' wording that nagged Daryl.

"Yeah, they ran me off the road. Bastards," Jesus was becoming more incoherent by the second.

"Who?" Daryl asked, his senses spiking.

It was too late, Jesus was asleep, breathing deep and evenly.

* * *

Guilt nagged at Beth for letting Daryl leave without at least saying goodbye. On the other hand, she had every right to be angry. She was just getting her life back, discovering what that meant, and he shipped her off to Merle's. Feeling angry felt rather good. At the Sanctuary she wasn't allowed anger. No one was allowed to feel anything besides Negan. Before that, she was a teenager on the cusp of adulthood. Not very anger was probably allowed there either.

But something had caused her to slit her wrist. That was a big hint that it wasn't all butterflies and rainbows before going off to the Sanctuary. Really, when was life ever rainbows and butterflies? Maybe that's what she'd been striving for at the Sanctuary. Something better? Something more akin to rainbows. Clearly, she had been way off the mark.

Either way, anger was a more powerful feeling than the helplessness that was buried just below the surface, so she'd stick with anger for the time being. She understood Daryl was only protecting her, but she wondered when was her life considered her own? When would she be able to make her own decisions?

Staying with Merle and Andrea wasn't bad. She enjoyed the kids immensely. They each had their own sweet, rambunctious personalities and being able to snuggle a baby anytime she wanted was an awesome perk.

Telling them her real name was the first thing she had to do - no more Angel, she was ready to be rid of that girl and discover who Beth was. She was worried they would think she was being purposefully dishonest. Thankfully that wasn't the case. They adjusted to the name change without so much as a mumble. They were accepting of her and surprisingly non-judgemental about her past - or lack thereof.

Merle kept to himself and kept busy doing whatever it is he did during the day. Sometimes a couple of the kids would go with him, other times he'd go off by himself, always showing back up again in the evenings in time for dinner. Andrea promised Beth he was never far off.

Andrea was tough. In a good way. She handled herself and the kids and Merle as well as an infant with ease. Beth found their life and relationship increasingly interesting. Andrea seemed like an outgoing extravert. Beth didn't peg her for being the type to be so secluded on the mountain, yet it was clear Andrea was happy here.

During dinner one evening, Merle tried to hide the look of affection on his face as Andrea told the story of how they met. Beth saw through it, just as she had at Miriam's birth, their love for one another was clear.

Andrea lived in town with her parents and siblings, the eldest of five, waiting for something to happen, something to show her what she should do next. She had graduated high school and felt her life was wasting away while she worked the cash register at the grocery store.

She caught Merle's eye on one of his supply runs to town. She was young and blonde and beautiful and bored. And according to Merle, she had "a hell of a body". He was captivated by her and unlike the other women in the town, she didn't seem to be put off by his mountain man gruff exterior. And she gave back whatever he put out there. She didn't let his sharp mouth and quick temper intimidate her. They both were the type to say exactly what was on their minds.

After that first meeting, he came back to town often in an effort to pursue her. Andrea's parents hated him even though they didn't know him and, at first, that was a contributing factor in her attraction to him. Then, he quickly grew on her. He wasn't the normal dating kind of guy. He'd take her out fishing or hunting or they'd just sit in his truck and talk. Soon he brought her up to his shack in the mountains. She saw past the run-down house he grew up in and saw the beauty of the area. The fresh and crisp air was soul cleansing. So remote and private, no one was in your business, unlike down in the town where everyone knew everyone.

Merle promised to build her a beautiful home. They could be together, raise a family. It wasn't the promise of a bigger, better house that convinced her. It was _him_ that convinced her. He was different than any of the other guys she dated. He wasn't traditionally handsome and he didn't have a regular nine to five job. Those things didn't matter to Andrea. He didn't play games. He knew what he wanted and wasn't afraid to say so. It was the way he watched her when he thought she wasn't looking. The way he would pick her wildflowers rather than spend a ridiculous amount of money on a dozen roses from the florist. He embraced her independence, rather than being scared off by it.

Andrea moved to the mountain six weeks after meeting him and hasn't looked back since.

Beth found herself quickly at ease around them and she freely opened up to Andrea about where she'd been and what it'd been like. She felt useful here. There was always something needing to be done. Her days were busy and filled and it helped to keep her mind off other things. At least a little bit. No matter how busy she kept herself, Daryl was never far off in her thoughts. She missed him. How quickly she got used to being with him, living together like a real couple.

Her mind often wandered. She found herself daydreaming what it would have been like for her and Daryl to meet by happenstance, under normal circumstances, like Merle and Andrea. Maybe at the grocery store, reaching for the same box of cereal. Or maybe they could have met at the diner. Through a mutual friend perhaps. Go out on a few dates. They could have gotten to know each other in a normal way, eventually falling in love.

In this different version of events, she would have remembered her past and shared it with Daryl. She definitely wouldn't have a madman haunting her past, threatening to ruin her future.

* * *

Jesus said "they". Daryl was sure of it. _I wish they would have finished the job_. He studied the report Michonne and written on the accident. It said that he had driven off the road while intoxicated. She questioned the bartender who corroborated that he'd been at the bar all afternoon. Interestingly, he also said Jesus didn't have all that much to drink.

Daryl wasn't aware of any drug or alcohol testing that had been done on Jesus when they brought him into the hospital, he made a note to ask the next time he was visiting Jesus.

Giving up on sleep completely, he found himself at Jesus' house at about three in the morning. He rented the right side of a cream-colored duplex in a nice neighborhood. The windows on his half of the house were dark. It felt empty, hauntingly quiet.

Having been transported by a tow truck, Jesus' truck was backed into the drive. Mashed and mangled so badly it hurt to look at. It was totaled, he didn't need an insurance adjuster to tell him that much. Facing him, the nose of the truck was completely dented in. That goes along with the report. It said he hit a ditch on the opposite side of the road, and flipped it onto the roof. The roof was flattened down to the doors.

Daryl had no idea how Jesus survived this crash. They guessed he was thrown from the truck since he was found unconscious a few feet away. That's actually what probably saved him.

Running a hand over the gnarled metal, he rounded the truck. It may have been totaled but the rear was not majorly damaged. The light from the streetlight was dim, so he took his phone from his back pocket. Flipping on the flashlight he ran the beam along the tailgate. Kneeling down he got a closer look at the bumper. There was a dent to the right side, much lighter grey paint rubbed off on the black bumper.

It could have been the accident that caused the grey mark and dented bumper. It could have been there before the accident. It could be from any number of things.

* * *

Andrea was right. Daryl gave Beth two days to cool down before coming to see her. She was still angry, but they remained a stalemate. He apologized and stood firm in his decision that she needed to be there and Beth made no qualms about being unhappy about being there.

The second time Daryl came back Beth was a little less cool towards him. A little. The third and fourth time he returned she appeared more resigned to the fact that she was staying there for the immediate future. Much to his relief, after shutting him out, Beth let the anger drop and allowed him back in. She was talking to him at least. Making eye contact.

It was only a matter of time before she asked about his investigation into the Sanctuary. He would have to come clean and find some way to tell her he'd failed her. It was only right he be the one to bring it up first.

The CPS investigation as well as his own, so far, had turned up nothing. _Nothing._ It was maddening. They'd gone through the extensive lists of people there and found only one girl to have been seventeen when she became pregnant with Negan's child. She was eighteen by the time the baby was born. The age of consent in Georgia was sixteen, leaving them little to stand on legally.

And yes, he had many wives and polygamy was illegal but Negan was not legally married to any of them anyway. In the eyes of the state, he could call all of them his wives, as long as he wasn't actually married to them.

He was also treading the fine line of what was legal and what wasn't where the children were concerned. The children were well cared for. They didn't have the latest technological device or the latest clothes, but that was not illegal. It wasn't illegal to homeschool in Georgia either, which was what they were claiming to do. Each child that Denise and Jadis spoke with seemed to know the basics, if not more, for their age.

It wasn't illegal to not file for a birth certificate for a newborn baby either. The average person did, even Merle and Andrea though they had their babies at home. They did because the child would need a birth certificate to establish identity later in life. They would need one for employment and for a social security card and many other things. The children of the Sanctuary did not even exist according to the government.

Negan knew the law well, and as Beth said, he was crazy, not stupid. It appeared Daryl did not have a legal leg to stand on.

All this being told, he put off telling Beth about the investigation leading pretty much nowhere until he felt he couldn't put it off any longer. After dinner one night, he asked Beth to go for a walk with him so he could have a smoke.

That's how it usually went. He came up when he could, had dinner - he'd spent more time with his brother and Andrea in the past couple weeks than he had in years. She said it was cold, and she was right, but he won her down, whispering in her ear that he wanted to be alone with her.

Daryl carried a kerosene lantern lighting the way as they walked through the yard. Snow was threatening in the dark night sky and the wind blew noisily through the frozen pines. Before Beth begged to go back to the warm house, he led her to the barn.

It wasn't much warmer in the barn, the wind whistled loudly through the cracks. Daryl shut the door, placing the lantern on the dirt ground. It had felt like a lifetime since they'd been alone and they wasted no time. Beth quickly unzipped his coat, her hands were hot and quick over his chest, trailing down to his belt. Her lips were warm and pliant under his. His arms wound tightly around her waist, pulling her close.

He didn't want to stop. He missed seeing her every day. He missed her in his bed. He missed her just being there. Regrettably, he stilled her hands on his belt buckle. "Beth I gotta tell you something."

She angled her head, stepped back. "What? Do I get to go home?" She asked with a sly, teasing smile.

"I, uh." He couldn't stomach crushing her one more time. It didn't feel right, she'd been through so much.

She peered up at him, waiting. Blue eyes darkened by the shadowed barn.

"I found a house," he said instead of telling her about Negan.

_Chickenshit. _

Confused, her brows drew together. "A house?"

"Yeah." He moved her hair away from her face with his fingers, touching her cold cheek. "It's been on the market for months. It's nice. Nothing fancy but still better than the place we live in now. Needs a little fixing up. It's minimal, I can do the work myself. After all this is over, I thought maybe I'd look into it. If you like it."

The house had indeed been on the market for a long time and he thought it'd make a good place for him. Since Beth came into the picture, every time he found himself driving past it, just out of town the opposite direction of where they lived now, he'd slow down taking a second look at it.

He wasn't planning on bringing it up to Beth just yet. Not till things were settled. But shit never seemed to be settled and it came out in lieu of telling her about Negan. He felt bad shuttling her off to Merle's and leaving her there for an obscure amount of time. He felt guilty for not doing as he promised. The house would give them something to look forward to, something else to focus on.

Beth smiled, really smiled, for the first time since he dumped her off at Merle's. "A house? For you and me?"

He nodded. Having her gone made him realize how much he wanted her in his life indefinitely. "Since you been here, all I can think about is getting all this sorted out and getting you back with me. You just gotta stick it out here a little longer, okay?"

She reached up on her toes and kissed him so hard he almost forgot he'd just lied. Well, not necessarily lied but didn't tell the full truth.

A lie by omission is still a lie.

* * *

They fucked. They didn't make love or have sex. They _fucked_. Quick and hard in the barn. Beth pressed against the wall, boots kicked to the side, pants pulled off. Underwear dangling around her ankle. Daryl held her by her ass as she wrapped her long legs around his waist. Pants unbuckled, dick hard, he pounded into her.

If it was an uncomfortable position for them, neither was letting on. Their bodies took over their minds. All they could concentrate on was chasing the release they so craved.

It felt good. Not just the sex, but it felt good to be with together in this way again. To be that close to her. Her sweet moans coming faster and faster. Whispering his name. He missed her, missed this. Missed her body. Missed her voice.

Her hair glowed in the lantern light giving her an ethereal look. She was in ecstasy, her head leaned back against the wood paneling, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. He leaned in, kissing her. Their tongues danced together.

Balancing her with one arm, he ran a hand through her hair, tugging lightly, exposing her neck to his mouth. He inhaled her skin deeply. She smelled familiar, like home.

It was all he could do to hang on long enough for her to come before he was able to give it up. Instead of pulling out as he normally did, something overcame him and he buried himself deeper within her and came long and hard.

* * *

When they finally returned, hand in hand, to the house, they were a little bit more disheveled than when they had left. Still a little breathless and sweat beaded Daryl's brow despite the cold wind outside.

The younger kids were in bed and the older two were at the dining room table, building a set of LEGO's Daryl had found for them on clearance at Walmart. Merle sat in his chair and Andrea sat on that sofa, nursing the baby.

"What are you all red-faced about?" Merle teased.

"Must be chilly out there," Andrea chimed in, winking at the two.

Merle bellowed out a laugh, then said to Beth, "I thought you'd be more pissed to find out Daryl couldn't arrest that prick."

"Merle," Daryl uselessly chided. He shouldn't have shared that with him. Daryl felt like he owed his brother an update on the situation. Just as he owed Beth but had chickened out.

Beth turned on Daryl, snatching her hand from his as though it burned. "What does he mean?" She asked.

Andrea sighed at Merle and got up, putting the baby on her shoulder she shooed the boys up the stairs, following them as they went complaining about not finishing their LEGO set. "You'll finish it tomorrow. Bedtime now," she could be heard saying.

Merle grumbled under his breath. "Well shit, good luck brother," before escaping out the back door.

Alone in the living room, Daryl began to quickly explain. "Just listen to me," he said calmly, reaching for her hand again.

His calmness seemed to egg her on. "Listen? I've been here two weeks now. You ain't said a word 'bout Negan."

A short while ago he'd essentially asked her to move in with him permanently and now they were fighting. How quickly the situation changed.

"I planned on telling you. I just wanted to protect you. I don't want you hurt by that man any more than you already have been."

Quickly losing her patients, she snapped, "Would you stop protecting me? I'm not the innocent little weakling you think of me as. Negan's already done all the damage to me that I'm gonna' let him do. What did Merle mean? Why can't you arrest Negan?"

"He's doing nothing illegal," Daryl began to explain. "He's a shifty son of a bitch, but he isn't doing anything against the law that I've found yet."

"And what about all the innocent kids? What about Sherry?"

"If Sherry is still there at the Sanctuary, we didn't find her." May as well get it all out in the open right now.

She interrupted him with fresh anger. "Wait! What do you mean you didn't find her?"

"When we went to formally investigate the compound, there was no Sherry there. She could have been using another name and I didn't recognize her from the few photos I've seen. Maybe she was hiding? I don't know. All I do know is that there was no Sherry, or Dwight, in the people interviewed or in the list of names we compiled."

Beth grabbed her head as the room swayed. Daryl made a grab for her but she pulled away.

"I can't believe this is my life. I thought if I left the Sanctuary things would be better." And her life had been better with Daryl. Yet here she was _not_ with Daryl, hiding out from Negan, being the weakling she denied being just seconds before.

"We'll figure it out," Daryl tried. She didn't want to hear him.

"I'm sorry, Daryl," She unexpectedly apologized, still keeping him an agonized arms distance away. "You did your job. I'm pissed off at," she thought for a moment then said, "Me. I'm pissed off at me. I'm the fuck up here."

"No you're not," he said adamantly.

"Look at this!" She whispered in a strained tone. Showed him her wrist, ran a finger over the raised scar. "I slit my wrists. Apparently I tried to kill myself. So the way I figure it, I was a mess before I even joined up with Negan."

Daryl couldn't say he was shocked. He'd noticed the scars a long time ago. "Don't talk that way 'bout yourself," he said.

She backed herself up against the wall and couldn't pull back any further. He grasped her wrist, pulling her to him, he put his other arm around her. She let him hold her for a few seconds before pushing him away.

With sad eyes, she whispered, "I talked her into staying."

Daryl asked, pulling his head back to look at her. "Who?"

"Sherry. She and Dwight weren't sure about staying but I spouted about Negan and how good he was. And what we were trying to build. I just really liked her and wanted her to stay. I was selfish." She left out that it was questionable whether they'd be able to leave at all.

"Beth, this ain't your fault. I'm not through yet. I'll find a way to get him," he assured.

She didn't believe him. He could see it in her eyes. He could tell her it wasn't her fault a million times and she still wouldn't believe it. She'd been hurt too much.

She tried to pull away again but he stopped her. "Damn it Beth, don't let Negan come between us."

Her eyes snapped to his. Suddenly clear and bright. Determined. "That won't happen." She spoke with such certainty he almost believed her.

* * *

**I googled if it's illegal to not get a birth certificate for your newborn and I got mixed answers. But there are some interesting stories out there about people who didn't get one as a child! haha **

**Thanks for reading. Leave a comment! **


	25. Run Away

Sherry spent her days in a haze. Whatever they had given her was taking a long time to leave her system. She followed her roommate, Arat, around doing whatever she was told to do. Arat was impatient, easily angered by Sherry's slow bumbling hands. She made it clear she didn't want to babysit Sherry.

Being a good Savior, you did Arat as Negan told you to do. Even Arat who acted above everyone else. She was one of the few that resisted Negan's charm, yet they had a weird symbiotic relationship. Negan, oddly enough, respected Arat. That always confused Sherry because Negan didn't seem to respect anyone.

Sherry couldn't help that she could barely connect her thoughts. She couldn't help if she was weak and tired because they still doled out her food in tiny amounts as a form of punishment. Couldn't help the worry that preoccupied the thoughts that she could actually formulate. No one, Arat included, would answer her questions about Dwight's whereabouts.

It may have been a couple of days or even a week or more for all she knew when they finally released her from her cell. Though she was still stuck in the Sanctuary when they let her out the cool crisp air felt good in her lungs.

She kept her head down, not making eye contact with anyone. Too ashamed and angry to have left only to be brought back.

* * *

One day while working in the kitchen there was a commotion outside. Sherry heard raised voices, people running. Simon being summoned over a crackled radio.

She watched out the window, as Simon ran down the pathway that led to the gate. Soon after, Arat entered the kitchen, grabbing her by the arm, she began dragging her toward the other side of the kitchen.

Sherry fought her weakly, dragging her feet, trying in vain to pry her fingers from her bicep. She was too weak, she couldn't fight off Arat.

"No. Please, I've been good. Don't put me back there."

Arat ignored her and shoved a shelf on wheels to the side, exposing a door. It was well hidden by the backing of the shelves stocked with food staples. Arat, pulled her close to her face, cold black eyes searching Sherry's. "If you don't shut the fuck up, I'll kill you."

That was enough to still Sherry. She wasn't where she wanted to be but she didn't want to die and she had no doubt Arat would do just as she said.

Arat somehow managed to get the padlock unlocked with one hand, holding Sherry's almost limp body with her other. Down the concrete steps, she shoved Sherry. She landed solidly at the bottom of the steps, pain radiating from her elbow. Her cheek hit the dirt floor and the smell of mildew burned her nostrils. The stench, as well as the pain in her elbow, made her eyes water.

Arat picked her up by her hair and led her down a long corridor, through another doorway. Now they were underground, no longer under the main building. It was dark, but Arat knew the way. Concrete doors lined the hall and Arat stopped at the last one, throwing her inside.

"You can scream all you want, but you know no one's gonna' hear you," Arat said coldly. Sherry knew this to be true, she screamed her voice hoarse when they first locked her away.

She scrambled to her feet and pushed against the door as Arat slammed it shut. Her nails dug in as she sank to the door, defeated. Sobbing.

Thankfully, they didn't keep her locked up for very long this time. Al came to fetch her hours later. There were rumblings that the sheriff had come with an entourage of officials, snooping around. She wasn't sure if they found anything, but it gave her hope. Hope she kept well hidden.

* * *

Beth would always blame herself for Sherry and anything that might have happened to her. No amount of insisting on Daryl's part could persuade her otherwise.

He tried to keep her focused on the future. On what had to be done next once she was able to come back home. He took pictures of the house and showed her. Told her what needed to be done, asked her if she had any ideas, anything specific she wanted to be done. She was interested, but he could feel the heaviness she carried.

The lack of little sleep was starting ware on Daryl. Checking on Jesus regularly, a full day of work followed by visiting Beth whenever he could made for long days. And it wasn't that he didn't have time to sleep, it was that he couldn't sleep. Not without Beth by his side.

One night it was late by the time Daryl got back to the bottom of the mountain where his cell service was restored. His phone chirped, notifying him he had missed messages. Two of them actually. They were from Beth's psychologist.

Glenn insisted Daryl call him back right away on his personal cell no matter the hour. He was exhausted and tempted not to call Glenn back. He had already spoken with Glenn's secretary explaining Beth had to go out of town, canceling her appointments for the foreseeable future. Maybe Glenn was worried about her? Why was Glenn so insistent he call him back? Curiosity got the better of him and he hit the call back button. Expecting to get his voicemail due to how late it was, he was surprised when Glenn answered right away, sounding a bit relieved.

Daryl began apologizing for the missed appointments. He didn't want to appear dismissive of Glenn's time, but he couldn't risk taking her off the mountain for her appointments with him.

"This isn't about the appointments. I need to speak to Beth. In person."

"Listen, doc, I don't mean ta' be rude, but a few things have come up and Beth is indisposed," Daryl, began to explain. Yes, the therapy appointments were important but keeping beth alive was more important.

"Sheriff, I don't think you understand the urgency. I need to speak with her as soon as possible."

"Well, I'm afraid she isn't in town right now, she's staying at my brother's up the mountain and they don't have great cell service. I can relay a message to her if you want."

Glenn interrupted him before he could go on. "I'm sure you understand I can't tell you what it is I need to speak with her about. I apologize for being evasive and I don't mean to be pushy about the matter. If you give me directions, I can go to her."

That got Daryl's attention. He imagined the doctor wouldn't appreciate having to drive up the mountain in his Prius or whatever tiny car he probably drove. "You understand it's a half hour up the mountain? It's not easy to locate and this time of year it's rough goin'."

"Yes, I understand. I'm not a delicate flower, Sheriff," Glenn said with humor and a slight chuckle. "I grew up in Michigan. My first vehicle was a beat up old Ford. It was a piece of crap but it got me through plenty of snowstorms."

Well, that put Daryl in his place and he smiled in the dark of his truck. "Okay, how 'bout I take you up there." Whatever it was, it was obviously important and he didn't want Glenn speaking to her by himself.

* * *

They made a plan for Glenn to meet Daryl at the station the next afternoon. Glenn couldn't wait any longer, he had to tell Beth who she was and his relation to her. Every time he looked in Maggie's eyes the truth almost came tumbling out.

It wasn't unusual for patients to suddenly stop going to therapy, especially once they began to improve. Daryl said Beth had to unexpectedly go out of town, but once he didn't hear back to reschedule her appointments, he didn't want to risk losing contact.

It was a strange thing to be able to tell someone who they are. Not only that but to be able to tell them you are related to them. What were the odds?

He had no idea how he was going to go about this. "Hey, your name is Beth Greene. You went missing five years ago. I know who you are and where you come from. And oh, I'm your brother in law." If it wasn't happening to him, he wouldn't believe it.

Daryl hadn't been kidding when he said the road was rough. Even in the sheriff's Bronco, it was a bumpy and slow ride. The sheriff was a quiet man. Spoke when spoken to, didn't offer up much conversation. If Glenn wasn't mistaken, Daryl had more interest in this than that of sheriff. Taking her to and from her appointments, allowing her to live in his home, and now she was staying at his brother's home, it all seemed to go above and beyond the call of duty.

It wasn't his business why she was staying with the sheriff's brother. Now that he knew his connection to Beth he felt a tad bit responsible. Protective even. Not that he had to protect her from Daryl. He seemed like a good guy. Still, she was his sister for all intents and purposes.

"I appreciate your taking me up here," Glenn spoke when the silence and his own thoughts finally got to him.

"No problem. I come up here most evenings anyway."

"You do?" Glenn asked somewhat surprised. "After working all day?"

"Yeah. Ain't no big thing."

"Do you come here to see your brother? Or Beth?"

"Beth?" Daryl sent Glenn a sharp look. "How'd you know her real name?"

_Damn_. "I um," he stumbled with his words. "Shit. I'm sorry."

This was getting old. "Let me guess," Daryl interrupted. "You can't say?"

"Bingo," Glenn said apologetically.

The rest of the ride was in silence. Not strained silence necessarily. Daryl was curious. Glenn couldn't say anything. That was that.

As they pulled up a driveway that was so well hidden Glenn didn't even notice it until they were right up on it, Daryl finally spoke, his voice serious, "Is what you got to say gonna' hurt Beth?"

Glenn nodded solemnly. "I can't be sure of her response. It probably won't be easy to hear."

"She's been through a lot," Daryl said. A warning.

Glenn nodded again. This much he knew. "Can I ask why she's up here?"

Daryl quickly filled him in about Negan knowing Beth was with Daryl.

"Does she want to be here?" Glenn asked.

Daryl pegged him a sharp look. Glenn couldn't help but squirm under his stare. "It's for her protection."

"Of course, I didn't mean to imply otherwise." But Glenn knew keeping someone where they didn't want to be usually didn't end well.

* * *

The remaining questions Glenn had about Daryl and Beth's relationship were answered when Beth wound her arms around Daryl's shoulders in greeting. It was more than a _hello, how are you _type of hug_._ She pressed her body against his and he leaned down and buried his face into her neck breathing in deeply.

She was surprised to see Glenn coming in behind Daryl. Shocked actually. She smiled uncertainly, unease showing in her eyes.

The house was full of kids and two adults Glenn guessed to be Daryl's family. He made quick introductions. Merle. Andrea. A tiny baby named Mirriam. Mathew, Thomas. Micheal, Beau, Garret, and Jamison. Glenn was a bit awestruck. Hershel and Anna were a handful enough. He couldn't imagine seven.

They quickly made themselves scarce after Daryl mumbled something quietly to them. Daryl and Beth sat on the couch. As Glenn perched himself on the edge of a well worn Lazyboy, he noticed their fingers interlocked tightly.

"I want to be sure that you're okay with Daryl being here," Glenn began. He wanted to give Beth the courtesy he would anyone else.

"Anything you have to say can be said in front of Daryl. I'll tell him anyway." She gave Daryl a small smile and he winked at her in return. This, their relationship, to Glenn's perception, was as he suspected. There was more to this than Daryl's duty as sheriff. More than a girl needing help.

"Okay. Let's start with your name. It's not Angel."

Beth took a shaky breath. "No, it's not. It's Beth." Her voice was little more than a whisper. "I've known for a while. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

Glenn smiled kindly, putting up a hand. "That's completely fine. Beth, do you know your last name?"

"No," she said shakily.

"It's Greene. Your name is Bethany Hope Greene." He spoke her name slowly.

Her lips moved silently, repeating the name to herself. She searched her mind, waiting for a piece of her memory to fall into place. "I'm afraid that doesn't sound familiar."

"That's okay. I'm not expecting any answers from you. You're not required to tell me anything I don't already know." Though he admittedly wanted to know it all.

After a moment Beth calmed visibly. Her shoulders relaxed, her posture curved into a more comfortable position. "Is that all? How did you find this out?" She asked Glenn. "Did you know?" She asked Daryl.

"This is the first I've heard of it, Ms. Bethany Hope Greene," Daryl said with a sweet smile Glenn guessed was reserved only for her.

"I'm afraid there's more," Glenn said almost regrettably. Who's to say how she'll react to any of what he was about to tell her.

Beth sat up straight again, the frown of uncertainty returning to her mouth. Glenn retrieved a folded envelope from the back pocket of his jeans and took out a piece of folded paper. He handed it over to Beth.

With shaking hands she unfolded it, the word _Missing_ at the top. She stared at her own face. It was the same but somehow different. It meant nothing to her. Not the name. The date. The photo.

He took a photo from the envelope next. The photo he collected for today was from Shawn's Facebook page. He wasn't sure the legality of printing off photos from your brother in law's Facebook page in this instance but he did it anyway.

In the photo, the Greene's stood in front of their house. A happy family, A man, and a woman. A teenage girl to the man's right and two younger kids in front of them. A girl and a boy. The girl was obviously Beth with skinned knees and gangly long legs and blonde hair in braided pigtails.

The man and the woman were the people from Beth's brief memories that always came and went too quickly. They were much younger than they'd been in her dream at the hospital. She had no doubt it was them. She traced her finger affectionately down the woman's long graying hair.

"Mama," she whispered aloud. Instantly tears pooled in her eyes and streamed down her face. Daryl placed a protective arm around her shoulders. "And that's my dad?" She asked Glenn.

"Yes." Glenn was practically kneeling on the floor in front of her now so close to the edge of the chair he was. This was harder than he thought it would be, switching from therapist to family. A lump of emotion burned in his throat. That vague protectiveness he felt grew. She was his family and he didn't want her upset no matter how necessary it was. It was too late to turn back now.

"That's your brother Shawn." He pointed to the boy standing beside her in the photograph who was giving her bunny ears with two fingers behind her head. "He's about eighteen months older than you."

She smiled affectionately at the face she didn't even recognize. She didn't know him, but somewhere deep down inside she felt something for him. Felt something for all of the people in the photograph. _Something _was better than nothing.

"How old am I?" She asked after a moment, suddenly aware she didn't exactly know.

"Twenty four."

"Yes. I'm sorry. It said my birthdate on the missing poster," she apologized realizing her error.

"It's okay. This is a lot to take in." He wanted to hug her, or at least place a hand of comfort on her shoulder or knee. He held back, wanting to respect her space. The last thing she needed was someone she hardly knew crowding her.

He pointed next to the teen standing next to her father. _Their_ father. "This is Maggie. Your sister. She's six years older than you." He tried unsuccessfully to keep the affection out of his voice.

Tall and skinny. Arms crossed across her chest. She was full of teenage attitude, wanting to be anywhere but taking that picture.

"My parents. Are they," her voice drifted off. _Are they alive? Are they well? Can I see them? Do I want to see them? Would they want to see me? Why would they want to see me? _

_I left them. _

"They're good. They live outside of Atlanta. Still in the house, you grew up in." The farmhouse she affectionately remembered.

"Do they know about me? That I'm not missing?"

"This is where it gets rather muddled." _Muddled_ was an understatement. "They do not know and I can not tell them unless you want me to. I can tell them that you are alive and well and that's it or I can tell them the whole story. Or you can tell them if you want. Ultimately, it's up to you. You should know it's also your prerogative to not have any contact with them if you choose."

He wanted so badly for her to demand to see them that very day. He saw their hurt, knew their pain. It wasn't his decision to make though.

"I must have hurt them so badly," her voice hiccuped on a sob.

Glenn gave up and moved to sit on the sofa next to her. "They miss you," he conceded. "The last five years haven't been easy. But a lot of good things have happened. Shawn and his girlfriend just had a baby boy. They plan to get married in the spring. And Maggie. She has two children. She and her husband met shortly after you went missing."

Beth continued to stare at the photograph. The faces had gone blurry because she couldn't stem the deluge of the tears. "I don't know how I'd face them after what I did."

"We don't have to figure it out today. But we do need to figure it out soon."

"What's the rush Doc?" Daryl spoke for the first time since he repeated her full name.

"Well, I'm afraid there's a personal motive to move things along," he admitted. He took the remaining photograph from the envelope. This one he didn't have to take from Shawn's Facebook account. He carried this picture in his wallet.

Beth took the photo from him. She let out something between a gasp and a whine. "This is you."

Glenn nodded. "That is me and your sister on our wedding day. Beth, I'm your brother in law."

Beth shot up from the couch. The photos and missing poster falling to the floor. She looked from Daryl to Glenn.

"What the hell is going on here? You expect me to believe you just happen to be married to my sister?"

Glenn nodded slowly. "I know. It's crazy. I didn't recognize you at first. Once I did, I knew I had to tell you the truth."

Daryl watched the scene unfolding. He wanted to put his arms around her. Tell Glenn to leave. He wanted to protect her. But there was no protecting her from this. This was just something she had to work through no matter how painful it was.

"Not to undermine what you're feeling, this has put me in a precarious predicament. I can no longer see you as your therapist which is fine. We can find you a new therapist. The problem is, because of privacy laws I can't tell the family about you without your permission. Not telling my wife that her sister is alive after being gone for five years, well, I honestly can't imagine carrying that secret around with me indefinitely. So I chose to come here today and tell you everything."

Beth stared at him skeptically.

"I am not being deceitful. It's my duty to tell you."

Beth didn't know what to do. First Sherry may or may not still be stuck at the Sanctuary. Same with Dwight. Then Negan wasn't going to be charged with any crimes so he'll be able to continue ruining people's lives. And now this. Part of her wanted desperately to fill in the blanks. The other part of her was afraid to. Now that the basic facts were presented to her, she wasn't sure how to react or how to feel.

She looked at Glenn, her brother in law. The only family she has had any contact with in five years. She believed him when he said he went being deceitful, but _damn_.

"My family must hate me," she voiced her greatest fear. "I've hurt them so badly."

Glenn stood, breaching the no physical contact with patients protocol - because she was no longer his patient, she was his _sister_ \- he placed his hands lightly on her shoulders.

"I can promise you they do not hate you. They love and miss you."

* * *

They left it at that for the day. Both Glenn and Daryl weren't sure how much more Beth wanted to know. She promised to make a decision about telling the family by the end of the week.

Andrea swooped in from out of nowhere and took Beth into her arms and guided her to the spare room she'd been using as her bedroom. Daryl did his best to not take it personally. Beth seemed to need Andrea at that moment. Not him and he needed to get Glenn back to town. Before leaving, he slipped into the room, kissed her damp cheek goodbye.

She lay on her bed, covered by a blanket with Scooby-Doo giving a thumbs up on it. Her eyes were closed, puffy from tears. As he stood again, she whispered, "I love you."

Time stood still as though they were thrust into a vortex. He didn't dare move or breathe.

Her eyes slowly opened. "Please don't say anything back. I just wanted you to know."

* * *

He wanted to say the words back to her. He respected her wishes though and didn't. He held onto them instead, burying them down deep for another time.

By the time they'd driven back down the mountain and said his goodbye to Glenn, Daryl was too keyed up to go home, so he went to the station again, spending another few hours pouring over the reports and information he had about Negan and the Sanctuary. Cross referencing names with the missing person's database. A few names pinged back. Unfortunately, they were all of adult age and, as Glenn had laminated to Beth, adults can choose to go missing on their own.

He'd make contact with them again, letting them know they had loved ones that cared enough to report them as missing. He understood people sometimes had a very good reason for leaving. Some families were abusive and dangerous. It was their right to leave. He doubted any of the Saviors would want to return to their other lives. Everyone seemed determined to stay there.

Or, maybe, they were just afraid to leave.

When sleep became inevitable, he began shutting things down for the night when he turned to leave, he noticed the cot in the back still set up from Beth. Instead of going home to an empty bed, he laid down in the cot fully clothed with no blanket and settled in for a night of very little sleep.

Whether it was his imagination or not, the pillow still held Beth's scent making his chest ache deeply.

* * *

"I understand you're upset with Daryl and all. Finding out that guy is actually your kin. I mean, wow. It's a lot to take in. But, Daryl really cares about you. I ain't never seen him so hooked on a girl ever." Andrea spoke quietly, sitting on the bed in Beth's bedroom. It was late. Everyone was asleep except Beth and Andrea. The house was dark and quiet.

She had laid in bed and cried for a few hours until she was sick of her own self. This lying around and wallowing wasn't solving anything. She began to formulate a plan. And while it wasn't the most sound plan, it felt good to be doing something.

"I'm not upset with Daryl. Or Glenn for that matter. That's not what this is about. I'm tired of waiting. Ya' know? Tired of waiting for others to fix my problems for me. I'm guessing that's how I ended up at the Sanctuary to begin with. I was trying to find the easy way out." The scar on her wrist subconsciously itched. "I can't keep expecting Daryl to handle everything for me."

She sighed, sat on the bed next to Andrea. "I've hurt so many people. My own family. I don't know how to face them. I wouldn't even know where to begin. I got to try to make it right. I've got to find Sherry, get her out of there.

"_Me_. I have to do it. Not Daryl. She's my friend. It's my fault she's there. I persuaded her to stay, and then I just left her. Apparently, when the going gets tough I leave." The irony wasn't lost on her that that was exactly what she was doing now. Leaving.

Beth felt bad lying to Andrea who had been nothing but kind to her. But the fact remained she was tired of relying on other people to fix her problems for her.

"For starters, it's not your fault. She didn't have to stay," Andrea told Beth. Trying to be a voice of reason. "But you can't just go traipsing off into that hippy-dippy commune from hell. It's not safe."

Andrea's description of the Sanctuary made Beth smile as she stood again and began organizing a few things into her backpack. A flashlight. A canteen of water. A few of Andrea's homemade granola bars wrapped in a tin. A large bag of trail mix. A small amount of cash she had from working at Carol's bookstore. She wanted to be prepared, better prepared than when she left the Sanctuary.

Beth smiled at Andrea. "I can tell by the look on your face, you don't really believe that. If you didn't have a baby and six other kids to care for, you'd gladly be joining me."

Andrea might look like the stereotypical mountain wife with a flannel coat, muck boots, and numerous kids but she was smart and she held no tolerance for a man mistreating women or children. She'd love nothing more than to bring a world of hurt onto Negan.

A hum of laughter sounded in the quiet room. "Probably. But, Daryl will be so pissed at me if I let you go." Andrea stood and switched baby Miriam from one shoulder to the other, went to her dresser and began rifling around in the top drawer.

"I appreciate what you're trying to do. Goin' to find your friend is admirable. What if this Negan guy catches you? Then what will happen?" Andrea asked, her back to Beth.

"You're not _letting_ me go, I'm going on my own. I'll figure it out when I get there. I'm not dumb, I'll be careful." She didn't see it as a choice.

Andrea sighed and turned back to her, an antler handled hunting knife held out in her free hand. "I know you're not dumb. Here, take this. I hope you won't be needin' it."

Beth took the knife, felt the weight of it. Removing the sheath, the four-inch blade sparkled in the kerosene lantern light. Emotion clogged her throat. It wasn't just a knife Andrea was offering her, it was a way to protect herself.

She wound her arms around Andrea and Miriam, hugging them tightly. When they pulled apart, Andrea nodded, emotion showing on her face. She then busied herself in the closet this time, pulling out a large camouflage coat.

"Wear this. You'll be warm at least."

"Thank you for everything." Beth would have never guessed she'd have friends, friends that were genuinely good people, outside of the Sanctuary.

Andrea watched as Beth put the sheathed knife on her belt and then put the oversized jacket over her yellow shirt and grey sweater that had seen better days. She checked her pack one last time and turned to the door that led down the hall to the living area. She stood there a second, wanting to say something but nothing else was to be said.

Andrea nodded. "Go on now, go find your friend and get back here as fast as you can. I'll try to stall Merle and Daryl as long as I can. And if you see that son a' bitch Negan, kick him in the balls for me."

* * *

**I might be Andrea. Except I don't live in the mountains. hahaha**

**Thanks for reading! Leave a comment. ;)**


	26. Dead & Buried

Beth didn't have the heart to tell Andrea she might not be coming back.

It was anyone's guess what she would walk into or what Negan would do or how he'd react. Her plan wasn't much more than finding her way back to the Sanctuary, confronting Negan and finding Sherry. And then what? She wasn't sure. There was no doubt she wouldn't be welcomed back with open arms. If Sherry was there, Beth knew she wouldn't be able to leave her there and Sherry probably wouldn't be allowed to go anyway.

One step at a time, she reminded herself.

Going back into the lion's den was a huge risk. She understood the dangers of doing this on her own, but after living five years the way she had and then living without the imposing control of Negan, she came to the realization she was no longer intimidated by him. He held nothing over her anymore. She'd grown during her time with Daryl.

She wasn't afraid of Negan, but the possibility of not making it back almost had her turning around to the safe confines of Andrea and Merle's home. But there was a need deep down inside of her she couldn't ignore. She had to do this. For herself. For Sherry and for all the other people Negan had hurt.

None of this was fair. None of it was right. In a perfect world, she would have never come across the likes of Negan. She would have stayed with her parents. Or at her age, maybe living on her own. Working. She could be finishing up college. She could have met Daryl by chance.

In life sometimes - most of the time - no one wins. It was a balance of right and wrong that kept the world going round. She wasn't sure what side she was on anymore. She allowed herself to get sucked in. She hurt her family. Now she was hurting Daryl.

It all stemmed from Negan and he needed to be stopped.

This is just the way it is. If something did happen to her then maybe some good could come of it, maybe Daryl could finally arrest Negan. She didn't like the idea of being a sacrificial lamb, but she'd play the part if she had to.

* * *

Daryl must have fallen asleep because he awoke to his phone buzzing next to his head where he left it on the pillow. Bleary eyed, he checked the caller ID read, blinking twice before his vision cleared.

Panic surged through him instantly. His screen flashed Merle's number.

"Finally. I been driving down this damn road tryin' to get service," Merle barked when Daryl answered.

"What's wrong?" Daryl asked without preamble, sitting straight up.

"She's gone, man," Merle said through a bad connection. Static crackled through the speaker. Merle's voice went out then back in.

"What?" Daryl asked, hoping he'd heard wrong. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. His muscles tensed.

Unfortunately, Merle relayed the same words, "Can you hear me, brother? I'm driving down the mountain trying to find service for this damn cell phone." Merle hated having a cell phone. New fangled technology, he called it.

He repeated, "She's gone. Beth is gone. Andrea said she took off, wanted to handle things on her own. Whatever the hell that means."

Daryl was up and out the door of the backroom, searching for the keys to the Bronco in a matter of seconds. "How long she been missing?"

"I dunno'. She left sometime during the night."

* * *

Once he found the keys, right where he'd left them on his desk, he tried calling Michonne on her cell as well as the two-way radio. No answer. It was early, the sky still dark outside the station windows. She might still be asleep. Still, she should have her radio near her.

Frustration mounting, he didn't have time for this. Once he was driving he decided to swing by her house. There was a single light on toward the back he knew to be the light above the stove which she kept on all of the time. The rest of the house was dark. Didn't matter anyway because her vehicle wasn't in the drive.

He swore under his breath, slapped the steering wheel with his palm. He forced himself to take a breath. Panicking and getting pissed off wasn't going to get him anywhere.

Why did Beth have to leave? They'd hit a few speed bumps but they were heading in the right direction. The bank approved his loan for the house. Thanks to Glenn they knew who Beth was. She could be reunited with her family should she choose to. She said she loved him. He was sure she wasn't lying when she said those words. She wouldn't just up and leave him. Would she?

For the first time in his life, he had something tangible to hang onto and he wasn't going to let that go. Now a little more collected he had an idea of where Michonne might be. He made a u-turn in the middle of the road and headed in the opposite direction.

Just as he thought. There was Michonne's car parked at the curb of Rick Grimes' house. No huge surprise there. Something had been going on between the two of them for some time. Daryl had given Michonne her space. She'd tell him if she wanted him to know. Apparently she didn't feel he needed to know.

He didn't have the time or inclination to figure it out right now. Leaving the Bronco running he put it in park and jumped out. Once at the door he banged on it loud and hard with the side of his fist. He was probably waking the dead but he didn't care. Reaching a new point of desperation, he tried the knob. It was locked.

"Michonne! Ya' in there?" No answer. He began his second assault on the door.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, Rick appeared in the doorway. Looking uninterested, a towel wrapped around his waist, hair dripping wet from a recent shower. Michonne stood in the shadows of the dim living room. A matching towel wrapped around her, clutching it closed at her chest.

He was stunned for a second before gathering himself and pushing his way into the living room.

"Beth's gone. I need your help finding her."

Before Michonne said anything, Rick rounded him, standing next to Michonne in their matching towels. For some reason, it pissed him off all the more.

Rick seemed a bit more interested now. "What do you mean she's gone?"

"She's just gone." He didn't have time to keep explaining this over and over. "She's gone as in not where she's supposed to fucking be. She's in danger, I know it." Every fiber of his being told him so. "She's either been taken or went back to that God-forsaken Sanctuary again."

"Do you really think she'd go back? Why would she do that?" Michonne questioned. She'd never seen Daryl so unhinged. His usual calm demeanor was replaced by near panic. He paced back and forth. Ran his hand through his hair, oblivious or not caring as to what he'd just walked in on - she and Rick. Together.

"I don't know. She mighta' gone back to find her friend. Either way, we got to find her. I need your help Michonne. If you're too busy here I can go by myself." He stopped pacing and stood in front of Michonne. "Ain't you my partner? I thought you was my friend. I thought I could count on you."

He regretted the words the second they left his mouth. She flinched. His words hurt her. "_Damn it._ I'm sorry. I'm just going out of my fucking mind."

"Of course I'm your partner and your friend." Best friend, at the risk of sounding juvenile. "We'll find her. Don't worry."

He hated being pacified. He breathed a sigh of relief though when she disappeared down the hall where he assumed she was getting dressed.

Once they found Beth, they'd sort this out. He'd apologize to Michonne again and if she wanted to, they'd have a talk. Figure out what's the story is about her and Rick and where the hell Mike fits into it all.

"Let me help," Rick said, surprising Daryl.

Daryl eyed him suspiciously. "Why would ya' wanna help me? I don't know you."

Daryl's attitude stemmed more from his wariness concerning Rick and Michonne's relationship rather than not knowing him. She didn't need Daryl's protection, that didn't mean he didn't feel protective of her. Mike was no good and he partly blamed himself for sitting back and letting him treat her like shit. He didn't know enough about Rick to know if he was any better.

"I mighta' stepped down from my position as sheriff, that doesn't mean I don't wanna help," Rick explained, standing his ground. "I care about Michonne. She cares about you. Get it?"

"You care 'bout Michonne?" He asked. More of a threat than a question. A '_You hurt her and I'll rip your face off'_ kind of threat.

He nodded, eyes going soft for a split second. "Yes, I do."

After a moment of staring one another down, Daryl relented. Rick seemed sincere and the more help the better.

* * *

Beth stalled once beyond the perimeter of Merle's property. Momentarily hesitating, gathering her bearings. It wasn't too late, she could turn back.

Five years she wasted at the Sanctuary. It took her from her family. From her life. Ultimately it brought her to Daryl. Ultimately it could take her away from him.

Anger surged through her body, starting from her toes flowing to the top of her head. It was cold and as always the wind blew sharply but her face burned with heated rage.

Why should Negan keep getting away with what he was doing? It wasn't right. She wasn't going to let him continue his plight of deranged lunacy. She wasn't going to run or hide anymore. She was going to face him and do what needed to be done, to hell with the consequences.

She continued on with more strength. More purpose. Thanks to a few hand-drawn Platt maps tucked away in a bookshelf in Merle's living room, she roughly knew where she was in relation to the compound. She'd always had a good sense of direction, the night she left the compound notwithstanding. Instead of following the road down off the mountain, she cut through the woods in the direction of the place she'd fled months before.

With the flashlight burning bright, she walked endlessly through the trees and shrubbery. Snow crunching loudly under her boots. Like so many other times, she wondered just what she'd been thinking all those months ago, taking off in the middle of the night by herself so unprepared wearing nothing but the clothes on her back.

This time was different. She was stronger in mind and body. Better prepared. One thing hadn't changed. Like then, just as now, she was desperate. When she left the Sanctuary she was desperate to escape. Now she was desperate to do the right thing.

If only she knew exactly what that right thing is.

When she came to the abandoned cemetery, she paused, catching her breath. The massive tree she'd hidden in was still there, tall and imposing. The opening she'd climbed into black and empty.

Its towering presence wasn't as frightening this time. It was comforting. It had protected her. Kept her alive. She rested a hand of appreciation on its cold, scratchy bark.

She panned the flashlight around the surrounding grounds, a bright beam splitting through the dark, shadows creeping just beyond. Sweeping the beam of light downward, the headstone of the unknown girl lay at her feet. Just like the tree, she was comforted knowing she was still there.

Was it silly to think that? Where else would she be other than dead and buried? She knelt down and brushed the snow away.

_Unknown girl. 1906 - 1914. _She was just eight years old. How could someone not know her? Know her name at the very least. Beth felt as though she were that little girl. Unknown, even to herself, for so long.

Until she met Daryl. He _saw_ her. He saw her when she didn't know her own name. If she somehow found her way back to him, she'd never leave him again.

* * *

Daryl burst through the door of his brother's house with Rick and Michonne closely behind him. It took too long to get there, they were wasting valuable time and he didn't have the patience for false pretenses right now. He was pissed and the first person he saw got the brunt of it.

"How could you let her just leave like that?" Daryl immediately snapped at Andrea when she appeared from down the hall. She wasn't holding the baby for once.

"Let her?" Andrea asked incredulously. "She's a grown woman. She can come and go if she wants. I'm not a warden and this ain't no prison."

"But you were supposed to watch out for her." It was almost too much. After all the shit he'd been through in his life, losing Beth might just be the thing that breaks him.

"You're right, I'm sorry she slipped out on our watch," Merle said. "But you watch who your talkin' to." He slipped an arm around Andrea's back.

Andrea glanced at Merle, giving him a look that said she could handle herself.

"She was goin' with or without my permission." Andrea made air quotes around the word permission. "The last thing that girl needs is someone else tellin' her what to do. If I made her stay I wouldn't be any better than that Negan asshole."

It was here, Daryl realized, keeping Beth stashed away at Merle's had been a mistake. He didn't give her a choice. His intentions had been good, but he failed to listen to her and what she wanted.

Daryl lowered himself onto the couch, clutching his head in his hands. "Son of a bitch," he growled. "Tell me exactly what she said."

"She said she was comin' back. But I honestly don't know if she was telling the truth. She said she was going to find her friend."

Daryl thought for a moment. "Sherry probably wouldn't go anywhere without her husband. If she's even still at the Sanctuary."

Standing from his defeated position on the sofa, he went to Beth's bedroom. The bed was neatly made with the Scooby-Doo blanket, a pillow leaned against the headboard. All that was left of Beth was her copy of Clan of the Cave Bear. It was almost worn out, the spine practically falling off, and when he picked it up off of the pillow, it fell open to a well-worn page.

"_Ayla was part of nature's new experiment, and though she tried to model herself after the women of the clan, it was only an overlay, a façade only culture-deep, assumed for the sake of survival. She was already finding ways around it, in answer to a deep need that sought an avenue of expression. And though she tried in every way she could to please the overbearing young man, inwardly she began to rebel ._"

The words in that paragraph were underlined many times. It was the section she'd read to him that night so long ago at that station. He hadn't forgotten that night or the words she read to him barely above a whisper.

* * *

Beth was in much better shape than when she left the Sanctuary, she reached it quicker than expected. The dim light of the oncoming day hid her, silhouetting herself against the towering frozen pines.

She rounded the area to the backside of the compound. From her spot hidden in the shadows, it was dark save for a few lights shining on the other side of the shack windows. Quiet smoke plumed out from the chimneys and lazily hung in the air trapped underneath the weight of the cold.

Yellow light flickered in Negan's cabin window.

After she left, part of her wanted badly to return. Now she felt nothing but disdain and sadness for this place she once called home. All these people, just as she had been, are caught up in the fallacy that is Negan.

It was tempting to go straight to the cabin she and Sherry shared. That would be difficult since it's surrounded by the other cabins. Instead, she crept to Negan's cabin. He only had one window near the door. She leaned against the side of the cabin wall, listening. Nothing. Unless he was sleeping, which was unlikely, he must not be there. He was rarely alone and was _always_ talking. He always had Simon or Dwight or one of his many wives was him.

The sound of footsteps had her pressing her body close against the outer wall. Two people passed by the front of the cabin. _Come on, we're late_, one of them said to the other. Once they were gone, she peeked around the corner and watched as they went into the main building.

Occasionally Negan held early morning "prayer" meetings. Like all of their other meetings, it was an hour or two of him talking about nothing at all. He was testing his people by forcing them to sit for hours, sleep-deprived and hungry.

Following the shadows, she made her way to the building. Sure enough, Negan's voice could be heard reverberating through the building.

"God sent me here to save each and every one of your souls. I do not look at it as a burden. It's an undertaking I gladly accept."

Beth rolled her eyes so hard it hurt her head. To think she fell for this at one time brought reddened shame to her cheeks. Negan didn't care about anyone but himself. He was in this for no other reason than to control anyone he could.

"You betcha', there will be naysayers. Those who don't understand. To that I say the strong ones, the Saviors, have no need to prove themselves to the phonies. But those phonies are the ones coming to take you away from here."

* * *

He didn't blame Beth for taking off, for wanting _to do something_. But it was his responsibility to get her back, to make sure she was safe, whether she wanted him to or not. Daryl wasn't interested in what was legal.

In the end, he was a mountain boy. During his stint in the army, through all his time away and even now serving as sheriff, he had forgotten his roots. He had been floundering. Chasing nothing. Beth snapped him back to reality. To what really mattered. His family. The people he loved and cared for. And when someone he loves might be in trouble, there was no way he was going to sit idly by, waiting to see what happens.

It didn't take long to gear up and head out.

* * *

The more she heard of Negan, the angrier she became. Negan was more than a man with a big mouth. He was dangerous. He took advantage of the people that so badly wanted to believe in him. He did more than take advantage of their need to believe in something. He was causing real damage.

Something switched off in her brain. She wasn't Angel any longer and Negan no longer meant anything to her. She was tired of hiding, she was tired of being someone she wasn't. Finding out who exactly she started where Negan ends.

* * *

Thanks so much for reading. I know it's not as interesting with Daryl and Beth apart, but I hope you all stick with it. I'm almost done with the next chapter. Hoping it'll be up soon.


	27. Tracks In The Snow

**I had to break this one up into two chapters. Only the next chapter isn't finished yet but I wanted to get something posted. Sorry for the delay. I'm trying. ;) Thanks for reading!**

**The song Tracks In The Snow by Civil Wars is really good, btw.**

* * *

Just before Beth was about to barge through the door, a hand clamped down on her shoulder, yanking her back. A large hand muzzled her mouth, stifling the yelp before it had a chance to escape. Immediately she began to fight them off. Kicking backward, pulling at the hand clasped over her mouth. Desperately flailing to get away from whoever's hold.

"Shh, shh, shh," he whispered in her ear, pulling her away from the building and into the space between it and a line of trees and brush. "It's me."

The hand released her and she spun around, ready to pounce. Or run. Neither was necessary.

"What the hell you think you doin'?" Daryl asked, whispering earnestly. Keeping Beth held up at Merle's was wrong. Leaving her to fight this battle on her own seemed even more wrong.

Daryl fought off the panic that surged when he initially found Beth to be missing. He forced his mind to clear, to focus on what needed to be done. All he could come up with was going to the compound, demanding his way in and tearing the place apart until he found her. Plain and simple.

Leaving Merle's, he, Michonne and Rick took the short ride to the Sanctuary. Parking in a thicket of trees off the road, they then snuck past the gates and into the compound. Splitting up, they kept to the shadows. It was eerily quiet, he didn't notice anyone keeping guard. When he spotted Beth he almost forgot to check the surrounding area before sneaking up behind her.

She took a step back away from him. Andrea apparently didn't hold him off very long. "I can ask you the same thing," she sassed in a whisper. Unsure how she felt, she was angry, at the same time she was relieved he was there.

'Nu-uh. You don't get to do that. You took off. Don't you get how dangerous coming here is?"

"Don't I know?" She asked, dumbstruck. "Do you forget who you're talkin' to? I know this is dangerous! I've lived in the last five years."

"Why are you here then? To prove something?"

The temporary bravado she held began to fade, her shoulders slumped and she looked down at her feet. Ashamed. Ashamed for not thinking this through. Ashamed for leaving Daryl the way she did after he had done so much for her.

"I don't know," she mumbled. Rising her eyes to his, they were as uncertain as hers. "But I'm here now and I'm not running away again. I have to confront him."

"Let me come with you," Daryl said, placing a tentative hand on her hip, fingers curling inward, pulling her to him.

"I started this. If it weren't for me you wouldn't be chasing me back to this hellhole. If it weren't for me Sherry might not be here. Dwight too. If it weren't for me I wouldn't be here. _I_ need to face him."

"I get why you think you have to do this alone." Swallowing his pride, he continued his plea, "But I just found you. I can't risk losing you."

Beth shook her head, tears burning her eyes. "Trust me. You gotta' trust me."

Daryl laid his brow affectionately to hers, quiet for seconds that felt like an eternity. "Okay, but you gotta promise to come back to me."

* * *

As was their way, Beth didn't vocally promise to come back to him. Instead, she nodded, closed her eyes tightly because she could not bear to see the disparaging sadness in his eyes, knowing she'd been the one to put it there. Hating herself, she backed away from him.

"I'm in the business of saving souls," Negan was saying when she entered.

The further into the room she moved, the more people noticed her. A few gasps sounded from the people, quiet rumblings. She didn't know what he'd told them about her going missing. Whatever it was, she was sure it was a shock for them to see her there.

"No, Negan. You're in the business of controlling people." It took her a long time to realize that. She hoped there was more to it than that, she eventually came to the realization there wasn't. He only wanted to use people.

Negan abruptly ceased the line of bullshit he was spewing, his mouth hanging open a second or two before shutting with an audible snap. His eyes bulged, the vein in his forehead protruded. Seeing the look of shock on Negan's face was almost payback for the years she wasted here under his dictatorship.

Simon took a step forward, Negan recovered quickly and waved him away. Simon stood down, watching, waiting for a sign from Negan that he should intervene.

"Well, if it ain't Angel, raised from the dead."

She stopped a few feet from him, well out of arm's reach. She was taking a big chance. At Negan's direction, more than a few of the Savior's would do whatever he commanded of them.

Simon. Arat. Joey. And who knew who else, they were all so far gone just as she was.

"Is that what you told them? That I was dead?" She was surprised at the calm coolness of her own voice.

Dwight wasn't in his normal spot near the front with Negan and Simon. Scanning the crowd she found Sherry. She sat to the right, a few rows back from the front. She was slouched over, leaning against the wall her chair sat next to. She didn't look well. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, a fading bruise marred the side of her jaw. She appeared to have lost weight, her clothes hanging loosely from her thin body. Tears gleamed in her eyes as she looked at Beth with disbelief.

Negan didn't answer her question directly. She didn't expect him to. "I think the Savior's deserve to know that their sister has been living in sin with the town's sheriff, the very one that was snooping around here with his defunct entourage. And now look at you, you're a little lost wayward sheep come back for forgiveness."

Beth snorted out an incredulous snort of a laugh. "You wish, Negan. To want forgiveness from you means I'd have to actually give a fuck what you think. And, newsflash, I don't care what you think. _I_ ran from _you_.

"You didn't have to go to such dramatic lengths. You could have left if you wanted." Negan said trying to save face in front of his people.

"Oh, are you saying I had a choice? Because just about everyone," she gestured to the group, "knows there are no choices here." Whether they wanted to admit it or not she spoke the truth.

Negan spoke with a dismissive tone. "Who do you think these good people are gonna believe? Me? Their devoted leader who only has their best interests at heart, the man who is protecting them from the likes of you, the man that is going to deliver them single-handedly into heaven." Negan looked at Beth from her dusty boots to her ponytailed hair. "Or you? No one is going to believe a downtrodden Mary Magdalene such as yourself. Are you all paying attention?" He asked the people who were at this point staring in shock. "Do you see how slippery Satan is? Sending one of our very own back here to spread lies."

He then addressed Beth again. "Anyone is free to go at any time. Including you."

"Is that right? You'll just let me walk out of here? You won't care if I take Sherry with me?" She questioned as she went to her friend. Sherry was a shell of herself. If Beth felt guilty before for leaving her, that was just a snippet of what she felt now. She bent at the waist, looking into Sherry's bloodshot eyes.

She whispered, "Angel?"

"Come on, we're leaving," she told Sherry, grasping her by the upper arm and gently pulling her to her feet.

Sherry shook her head. "No. We can't go without Dwight." Beth figured she'd feel that way and she didn't blame her. Sherry began to cry. "They did something to him. I don't know where he is."

"It's okay, we'll find him." She turned back to Negan. "Where is Dwight?"

"Dwight? Dwight who?" Negan asked, not fooling her, or anyone else probably, with his feigned innocence in Dwight's absence.

She knew she couldn't let Negan get under her skin so she turned back to Sherry. "Come on. We'll find him but you gotta come with me first." Beth pulled her to her feet. She was like putty. Her legs were weak. She could hardly stand on her own.

Beth didn't see Negan, so much as felt his presence directly behind her. She had put herself in an incredibly vulnerable position. Did she really think Negan would let her take Sherry and go on their merry way?

"Oh no, missy. I don't think you'll be going anywhere."

* * *

Daryl wasn't going to let Beth go into that building. He had ever intention of stopping her. It took every fiber in his being to release her, to let her go. Giving her one last kiss, she slipped from his grasp. He'd wait for her to return but he wasn't moving from his hiding spot between the building and the trees.

He waited. He watched. For Beth. For one of Negan's henchmen, anyone that might pose a threat. He also wondered where Michonne or Rick went. He didn't dare radio them.

The minutes ticked by and he was at the edge of his patience, contemplating going after Beth when something half covered by a black tarp showing through the scratchy branches of the trees caught his eye.

It was a car, only halfway covered by the tarp over the trunk and part of the body. It was dirty. Old. The bumper, he noticed, was hanging by two bolts on one side, the other side dangled freely where it was damaged and dented.

Daryl was quickly learning nothing ever _just_ happened. Everything was tethered to the next thing. Things that seemed to have no rhyme or rhythm or reason were connected by a thin veil of fortuitousness.

No, he didn't believe in chance any longer. He took out his phone, snapped a picture of the car and its bumper and license plate. Sliding the phone back into his coat pocket he was brought still by the cold steel of the barrel of a gun to the back of his neck.

"Don't move," a voice sounded through the frosty air. More of a whine really. A request.

Daryl froze. Automatically his hands went up.

"Turn 'round slowly," the voice directed.

The man holding a double-barrel shotgun was short and squat, dressed in a dirty flannel and saggy jeans under his protruding stomach.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

Daryl didn't miss the uncertain wobble in this guy's voice. "Hey, I ain't here to cause trouble," he lied. His presence alone caused trouble. "I just want to help a friend. That's all."

"Then why are you snooping around?"

"I'm not snooping. Just waiting." He stalled.

"Let me have your weapon," the man said, reaching for Daryl's Colt. As he was reaching for the gun in his holster, the man made a stupid error. He lowered his own weapon. Acting like he was handing over his gun, Daryl snaked his free hand out and grabbed the barrel of the shotgun and twisted, yanking it from his hands. Using the butt of the gun, Daryl clipped the man's chin. The man came after him with more force than expected, sending Daryl falling back onto the tarped car.

* * *

Beth couldn't say she was surprised when Negan grabbed her by the collar, but if she couldn't get Sherry to go with her, which she couldn't - not in the state of mind she was in and not without Dwight - getting Negan away from Sherry was second best. In the meantime maybe Daryl could help Sherry someway. Somehow.

He was twice her size and it didn't take him much to physically push her around. He pulled her away from Sherry.

"What? I thought we could leave anytime we want," she asked.

"Would you shut your ever-lovin' mouth?" He mumbled to her. Teeth clenched through a strained smile. "Simon, take care of things here while I have a word with Angel."

They shuffled around until he had her by the waist dragging her out of the main hall. She wasn't scared for herself, but it broke her heart to see Sherry sobbing, crumpled on the floor. Simon looming over her.

Negan dragged her, kicking and punching, through the kitchen and out the side door, heading to his cabin. Daryl and Michonne and Rick were nowhere to be seen. Panic surged. They had guards that patrolled the grounds. If they were hurt because of her she almost hoped Negan would end her.

As Negan continued to drag/carry/push Beth, something sparked in her memory of a television show she watched long ago. It was a grainy video surveillance clip from a grocery store camera. In it, a man was trying to kidnap a child. The child's mother, no bigger than Beth herself, grabbed hold of her child and pulled down with all her weight, allowing gravity to aid in pulling the would-be kidnapper and the child down to the ground. She was able to get the child away from him when they fell to the ground.

With Negan carrying her around her waist, she lifted her feet and pulled down with her weight. Sure enough, Negan began to struggle. She wrapped her legs backward around his, tripping him and sending them toppling to the ground.

Beth scrambled to her feet and ran into the pines lining the compound. She slowed, making sure Negan got to his feet and continued pursuing her, doing exactly what she wanted him to do - and that was getting him as far from the Sanctuary as possible.

She ran until her lungs burned and then continued to run. He was gaining on her and just as he was within reach, he grabbed her by her long ponytail, throwing her to the ground. She fell down a small hill, hitting her head along the way, banging her elbow. Cold hard-packed snow sliced at the skin of her hands.

Blood tasted in her mouth where she bit down hard on her cheek when her jaw hit the ground. Head pounding, body hurting, pain was everywhere, but she hardly noticed. Her vision wavered. Blinking rapidly, she saw she was back at the cemetery. Momentarily confused as a wave of dé jà vu washed over her. She felt outside of herself, her past reverberated with her present. Two worlds colliding but not mixing. Like oil and water.

Negan stood over her, the morning sun behind him giving him an ominous glow. He too was panting and out of breath. That didn't stop him from lecturing.

"This is the problem with women. They never know when to shut up," he droned. "Never know when to just mind their own business."

Ears ringing, his voice echoed in every direction, vibrating painfully in her head. He snatched her up again by her hair, forcing her to her wobbly feet. He began dragging her through the cemetery. She was exhausted, wanting to fade away, to give in. She felt she was slipping away, back into being that unknown girl.

They rounded the cemetery and through a grove of trees, there, in their shadows, was a small crumbling church. It's whitewashed siding, grey and peeling. Most of the windows were blocked out by sheets of plywood. It was a wonder it was still standing as it leaned precariously to the left.

"Women are only good for two things. Fuckin' and having babies. Some need some direction. Someone to show them the right way. Some are apparently harder to train. I thought you were one of the easy ones."

In the peripheral of her mind, she took satisfaction in knowing she was no longer one of the easy ones. Knowing that gave her a tiny bit of strength. She didn't come this far to give in and give up. She had no idea what he had in mind, she for damn sure wasn't going to make whatever it was easy on him.

She dug her feet along, the heels of her boots digging into the ground. He stomped up the steps of the church and kicked open the door that was hanging loosely by the hinges. He tossed her inside like she was nothing more than a duffle bag.

The church was dank and dark, smelling stale after years of being closed up. Sunlight pinched through the boarded-up windows. The pews faced the front of the church. A pulpit was knocked over on its side. The stained glass window behind it somehow managed to withstand the years of neglect and was beautifully brightly backlit by the sun. A single casket laid out in the center of the sanctuary. Empty of its person as though it was waiting for its return.

In her bemused state, she laughed at the irony.

* * *

It had been a long time since Dylan was in a fistfight. So long he was almost afraid he'd forgotten the hand to hand combat he'd learned while in the service. Luckily it didn't take much. His assailant was already unsteady from the hit to the chin, one punch to the gut and another to the temple had him slumping to the ground.

By the time he hefted his unconscious would be attacker into the back seat of the hidden car, the Saviors were exiting the building. They seemed forlorn and subdued. He waited, but no Beth. No longer hiding, he didn't care who saw him, taking the shotgun as well as his Colt, he barged his way into the building.

When those left in the holding noticed his presence they simultaneously stopped. Movement stalled, voices hushed. He identified himself aloud to no one in particular. "I'm sure to disrupt y'all. Remember me? I'm the Sheriff." Not that that means anything to anyone there, he waited a moment before speaking again. "So who is gonna' tell me where Negan is?"

Unsurprisingly no one spoke. "None of you, as far as I know, have done anything wrong. I just need to talk to Negan," he tried.

The seconds ticked by slowly. A little boy sat on the floor with three other children near a huddle of women that were doing their best to ignore him. It was Eli, the only child from the day they came here with Denise and Jadis that dared to speak to him. He quietly shuffled over to Daryl. Looking over his shoulder back at his mother. She took a step toward them. Daryl stalled her with an upright hand.

Dary must have felt large and menacing to the little boy, so he knelt down on one knee to be more on his level. "Hey, Eli."

He stared bashfully at Daryl. "I saw him," he whispered. "I wasn't posta' look, but I did." Then his eyes went big. "He was dragging a girl, but she got away."

"She did?" Daryl asked, hopeful the boy saw it correctly.

Eli nodded vigorously. "Did you see where she went?" Daryl asked.

With a chubby little hand, Eli pointed to the back. "Into the woods. Negan was runnin' after her. But she's fast!" The little boy declared.

Damn, they could be long gone by now. Still, Daryl thanked Eli and smiled as he stood. Eli, straight-faced, the most serious little kid Daryl had ever met, went back to his place on the floor playing with the other children.

"Look who we found," Michonne spoke up behind him. She and Rick stood with Simon and a woman cowering behind them he guessed to be Sherry. "Draggin this young woman along with him."

"Didn't look to me like she wanted to go with you," Rick said to Simon. He was cuffed and so pissed it was surprising smoke wasn't coming out of his ears.

Simon remained silent.

Daryl was relieved to see his partner. Rick too. He didn't have the time to rejoice just yet. "Rick, can you stay? Keep an eye out. Michonne? You come with me. That bastard has Beth."

Michonne nodded already half out the door. With no other idea of where to go, they went in the direction the boy had pointed.

* * *

Negan dragged Beth to her feet again, forcing her to sit upright in one of the pews.

"So, what are you going to do now? Have your way with me?" She asked boldly, a smile crept to her bloodied lips.

"I'm assuming you mean make love?" He asked, gesturing to the room with disgust. "Here?

"Make love?" Beth barked out a humorless laugh. "Let's call a spade and spade. It's rape. That's what you do to all your so-called wives."

"Ha! I don't have to _rape_ anyone. They're all willing."

She steeled herself with what was to come. She'd come to help Sherry, but that was only one reason. Maybe she was hoping to find herself alone with Negan. She was hoping to be in a position where she _had_ to defend herself against him. What he was doing here needed to be stopped and since the law wasn't going to stop him. She would.

Beth stood, hating that she swayed, taking two steps toward Negan. "I get it now," she said, chin jutted in cool defiance, eyes blazing.

"What exactly do you get?" Negan asked.

"There is no point to any of this. You're nothing. You're nobody."

Before he could respond, she lunged forward, stabbing him in the shoulder. The four-inch blade sunk through to the handle, making a satisfying sound.

The look on his face was even more gratifying. A mixture of shock and pain. His arrogance fading by the second. He was realizing he was human after all. She wasn't sure whether he was more shocked by the pain or the person that delt the pain onto him.

Beth took advantage of the momentary surprise, as Andrea suggested, she kneed him in the balls. He let out a high pitched yelp and fell to his knees where. Using her knee again, she squared it into his nose.

How quickly this big man went down.

* * *

Following fresh shoe prints in the snow, two sets, one bigger, one smaller. When they came across the old cemetery and blood smeared in the snow, it vaguely reminded Daryl of years ago when he was young and he and Merle went hunting. He honed his tracking skills early on.

"Fresh," Daryl said aloud. They continued on, following the tracks in the snow.

He heard the scream before he found the abandoned church. Looking behind him, Michonne was right there. She heard it too.

* * *

**Rckyfrk this I (Daryl chasing Beth to a funeral home/church) is kind of your idea when we talked about this story foreverrrrr ago! Thanks so much!**


	28. A Life

**Trigger warning. Suicide. Depression. Anxiety. Abuse. Basically all of it. But there are good parts too. Promise.**

**Thanks for reading. **

* * *

Daryl's ears were accustomed to sound and direction, they picked up speed, sprinting toward the direction of the scream.

They passed the cemetery, past the large tree. Rounding a thicket of trees, there stood an old church. He'd forgotten completely it was there. When he was young the people of the mountain would assemble here for worship. Moreso it was a place to gather and gossip and eat potluck lunches. Now it was decrepit and falling down like something straight out of a horror movie - his own personalized horror movie, one where the monster was real.

He pressed a finger to his lips in a shushing motion as he and Michonne quietly made their way up the rickety steps. The door was ajar. It was too dark inside to see anything. Then he heard shuffling and the distinct sound of crushing cartilage, followed by a wail of pain. He shoved the door open and when he stepped in, his Colt was drawn outright.

Negan lay on the ground, holding his shoulder, blood pooled around him on the dirt floor. Blood also covered his face. His nose was now misaligned, crooked. Beth kneeled above him, knife poised to stab again.

Daryl pointed his gun toward Negan, put up a hand to stall Michonne. She stood behind Daryl but braced herself. It was impossible to think Negan wasn't armed.

"Beth," Daryl asked, low and gravely. She seemed frozen. Eyes unseeing.

"The crazy bitch stabbed me!" Negan groaned.

Michonne smiled. "Good." He wasn't going to die from a knife wound to the shoulder, she sure hoped he was in pain. From the looks of his bloody, crooked nose it was broken.

Daryl stayed a few feet away. Gently he said, "Give me the knife."

She looked up at Daryl, her gaze sharp with anger. Not seeing. Not hearing. It was as though she didn't recognize him.

Her mind swam. Memories of long ago mixed with the events of the last few months. Confusion muddled her thoughts. Was this real? Was she dreaming? Was her time with Daryl a hallucination?

White knuckled, she grasped the handle of her knife. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, tuning everything out. The urge to finish the job, rather than just maim Negan so she, as well as Dwight and Sherry and all the others, could finally be rid of him was so strong it scared her.

"Beth, listen to me. If you kill him, you'll be arrested. You'll go to jail. You don't want to risk the rest of your life's freedom over this asshole." It might not be true, she might not be arrested, but he sure wasn't going to be the one to arrest her. She didn't need to know that, he just had to find a way into her mind. Somehow appeal to her sensible side that was currently buried under all the hurt.

Opening her eyes she peered again at Daryl. Vacant, devoid of recognition.

He had to find a way.

"God damn it don't do this." He finally snapped. "Don't let him take away anymore of your life than he already has. I love you, Beth. You're who I want to be with the rest of my life. Don't let him mess that up."

Suddenly, like a door opening wide allowing the light to enter, all she heard was Daryl's voice pleading with her, telling her to put down the knife. Saying he _loved_ her. He was the only thing that registered through the madness of her mind.

The knife slipped from her fingers. Before she was able to stand, Negan snaked his arm away from his shoulder, taking a pistol from the back waistband of his jeans, he pressed the barrel to her forehead.

The click of the safety release was deafening.

* * *

Here, faced with her own mortality, everything came zapping back. The gaps in her memory were filled as though they were never missing.

She'd joined the Saviors because of the guilt she felt after attempting suicide. The attempt itself was a half-hearted attempt, done mostly because she didn't know what else to do. It was a way of asking for help when words failed her. She was young and hurting, often feeling like she was standing in the middle of the room screaming but no one was listening. Anxiety coursed through her body every minute of every day. Depression bleak as the winter's sky at midnight came out of nowhere.

It wasn't about the boyfriend that broke up with her. He was nice but she wasn't in love with him. Her mental state had been fading for some time before that. As it often happens with these types of things, there was no one reason she could pinpoint as the cause of her depression and anxiety.

And once it all came crashing down, the hollowness mixed with crippling overwhelm, she felt she no longer had the strength to deal with anything anymore. She was stuck in a dark place with no light in sight. She felt nothing and everything at the same time. Irrationally, she thought to end her life was the only way out.

After she healed and came home from the hospital, her family tried their best, but everyone walked on eggshells around her. They didn't know what to do, what to say, or how to handle her. Even after she appeared to be doing better, going back to school and working as a waitress, her parents and brother and sister treated her with kid gloves. They thought she would break again at the slightest stressor.

Around the same time, Simon started coming into the diner. He looked different all those years ago in a baseball cap with no mustache. He was older and handsome in a rough cut kind of way. She was desperate for someone, an unbiased person other than her family, to talk to.

Too easily she opened up to him, telling him about her struggles. He was charming and said all the right things. Said exactly what she needed to hear. She wanted to be a part of something but didn't know what that something was.

Simon told her he had what she was searching for. A community of people trying to make the world a better place for the good of mankind. She fell for his story hook, line, and sinker. It was a case of the wrong thing at the very wrong time.

Once she was at the Sanctuary, Negan was more charming than Simon. The people were kind and focused. Mostly, she was naive and wanted to be somewhere they didn't treat her like a broken child.

They plied her with drugs. She wasn't sure what and she didn't realize at the time that's what it was. They claimed it was medication meant to cleanse her contaminated body of toxins from living with the commoners.

But the drugs - as well as their brainwashing, telling her the Saviors and Negan were the only ones that truly cared for her, saying she couldn't trust anyone else, even her family - kept her quiet and docile. It wasn't long before she was so entrenched in life at the Sanctuary, she _had_ to forget her family. It was a survival mechanism, it hurt too much to think of them.

At some point, Negan picked up on her reluctance to become his wife. _Those that do not obey must be shown the right way_, he had told her before having her locked in one of the cages below the main building. She'd lost track how long she'd been in there when someone, someone that had taken pity on her, left her door unlocked and she was able to make her escape.

Now, here she was and the man she once idolized had a gun to her head. She was surprisingly calm, all things considered.

"Fuck you, Negan," she said with a small smile parting her lips.

A crashing noise sounded near the front of the church as a skinny figure flew weightlessly through the stained glass window. Brightly colored shards of glass flew through the air, shattered, but still beautiful.

The figure made an impressive rolling motion with his body when he hit the floor and landed upright on his knees. The distraction enabled Daryl to send a single bullet through Negan's forehead. His hands dropped releasing her, the gun falling to the side. She fell back landing hard, a splash of blood splattered her face.

Not quite able to quantify that he came so close to losing her, Daryl went to her, lifting her by her shoulders.

"It's okay, baby. It's over." He wound his arms around her, kicking the gun away from Negan's lifeless body just to be on the safe side. He took her chin in his hand, looking over her face, touching her shoulders, running his hands over her arms. "You're okay?" He asked. Then said more certainly, "You're okay."

She nodded. "Yeah, I, I think so." And she was. She made it.

The figure that had crashed through the window unfolded himself from his position on the floor, brushing glass from the sleeves of his jacket limped his way to them. He was thin and gaunt. Blonde hair long and shaggy, clothes dirty.

"Dwight?" Beth questioned.

* * *

It was hours before they were able to head back to Merle's. Beth refused to leave without Sherry and Sherry refused to leave without Dwight and Dwight wasn't allowed to leave until he was questioned thoroughly.

According to Dwight, he and Sherry had been caught by Simon, Joey and two other of Negan's men in town. They separated them and brought them back to the Sanctuary where they kept him hidden in a cage underneath the main building. The lock was old and rusted and he was able to jimmy it open with a screw he found abandoned on the floor.

He didn't want to leave without Sherry so he camped out in the perimeter of the compound, waiting for an opportunity to find her and make their way together back down the mountain. He saw Negan struggling with Beth and followed them to the church. He waited outside. Watching through a crack, listening for the right moment.

When he saw Negan pull a gun he acted without thought. He apologized to Beth. His crashing through the window could have just as easily got her killed. "But it didn't," Beth said easily. "You did the right thing."

* * *

When Beth and Sherry were able to be reunited, she had been waiting in the center of the Sanctuary pacing back and forth, they embraced for the longest time. Both afraid to let go, both afraid this was somehow unreal. Finally, Beth released her and said, "I got a surprise for you."

Sherry peered at Beth quizzically. She jutted a chin over Sherry's shoulder where Dwight came into view, flanked by Michonne and Daryl.

A strangled cry escaped her lips and she ran to him. They clung to one another. Sherry holding him around his shoulders, Dwight closing his tired eyes, burying his face in her neck.

The misplaced Saviors milling about unabashedly watched, some with tears in their eyes. The majority of them cared for Dwight and Sherry as well as Beth. They had no idea what to think, they were confused and still didn't know their beloved leader, Negan, was dead.

After their brief reunion, Dwight was quickly whisked away by Daryl and Michonne. Backup was called in. The majority of the Saviors were good people but there were a few that were no better than Negan. They'd need help in sorting it all out. In the meantime, they corralled everyone into the main building.

Beth felt as though she'd been hit by an oncoming train. Not just the physical aspect of what she'd been through, her head pounded, her elbow was swollen and difficult to move, the emotional component had rendered her exhausted. She wanted to sleep for days.

Going back to the shack with Sherry, the one they had shared, was like a continuation of a bad dream. But it needed to be done. She needed to see it one last time. She had actually been happy there for a while.

The room was small. A tiny wood stove was set up along the wall across the door and a skinny tall backed dresser sat next to it. They shared it, two drawers each. A washbasin sat atop it along with a plastic pitcher of water, probably fetched from the stream that morning. The room was completed with two cots, one to the right, one to the left. Both were covered with a patchwork quilt.

Now that she achieved what she came here for she wanted to leave and never come back. Beth gave in to her exhaustion and sat down on the cot she'd slept in. It was familiar, the bow in the center, the way it creaked under the slightest weight. The threadbare blanket. She ran a hand over the soft, patched fabric.

"I saved your stuff after you disappeared," Sherry said, opening a drawer from the dresser. "I didn't know if you'd be coming back, so I just kept it in the drawer."

Beth stood and went to the dresser, reaching in she pulled out her extra white dress. Her spare underwear that was so thin you could see through it, a toothbrush and a small jar of homemade toothpaste made with baking soda and solidified oil. The sight of it made her teeth grind.

"I don't want any of this," Beth told Sherry.

Before replacing its contents, she noticed the corner of something tucked into the crack where the bottom of the drawer met the side. It was a small photo booth picture. Black and white and faded, no bigger than an inch. Taking it out of the drawer, the tears she managed to hold back began to silently fall. It was her parents when they were young. She'd always loved that picture and carried it with her since she was a small child. She hid it when she first arrived at the Sanctuary. She willingly gave up everything else, just not this one photo. She put it at the bottom of her dresser, allowing herself to forget it was there.

Shame was a reoccurring emotion she doubted she'd ever be able to release. Shame, along with guilt.

Beth sat back on the cot, holding the photo in her cupped hand. Sherry had seemingly snapped out of the stupor now that she knew Dwight was alive and took a worn-out rag from a stack on a crudely built dresser. She dipped it into the water and sat next to Beth. She began to gently wipe the blood, Negan's blood, from Beth's face.

"Negan? He's dead?" Sherry asked, voice void of any emotion.

Beth nodded through more tears. "Daryl shot him before he could shoot me."

Sherry sighed with relief. "Good," she said.

"I don't know how to thank you for what you did. Coming back here. I should be angry with you," Sherry smiled, her own eyes damp with unshed tears. "Risking your life like that."

"I'm the reason you stayed. I was a part of this for a long time. I shouldn't have been so," Beth stalled, searching for the right word. "Complacent. I'm to blame too. I had to do something. " Guilt and grief thickened in her throat.

Sherry stopped wiping the dried blood away. "Oh, Beth. No. We wanted a fresh start. After the car accident that scared Dwight's face, his family blamed me. And I don't think my family was very happy with either of us. We needed to get away from our lives back home. This is just where we happened to end up. But we stayed because we wanted to. This isn't your fault. You understand me? None of this is. Negan was a manipulative psycho."

Beth nodded once, swallowing her tears. "You and Dwight can stay with me until you decide what to do or where you wanna' go," Beth told her. It was the least she could offer. She doubted Daryl would be opposed to a couple of houseguests.

"Thank you." Sherry stood, threw the towel on the dresser and said, "Now, let's get outta' here."

Beth smiled and laughed. With the photo in her hand, they walked out of the shack and away from what had been her home for five years for the final time.

* * *

Rick drove them back to Merle's in Daryl's Bronco as Daryl had to stay at the Sanctuary. Andrea didn't blink an eye when Beth showed up with Dwight and Sherry.

"You look like ya' seen some action," Andrea told Beth, giving her a warm hug.

"Good girl," she said approvingly.

Andrea all but demanded them to let her take a look at them, reaching for the medical kit that was never far off. She cleaned Dwight's cuts he'd sustained from his heroic leap through the window, checked Beth's elbow to be sure it wasn't broken, gave her some aspirin for her head. Told Sherry she needed a good hot meal and set about reheating leftover venison stew. The kids ran in and out excited about their new guests who did their best to answer their questions until Andrea finally shooed them out of the kitchen.

After Sherry and Dwight ate heaping servings of the stew, Sherry changed out of the white dress to a pair of Beth's leggings and an old sweatshirt. Soon she and Dwight curled up on Beth's bed and quickly fell asleep.

Awaiting Daryl's return, Beth was unable to eat. Forget about sleeping. She didn't even try. When the house was quiet, all the kids asleep, Merle and Andrea and the baby retired to their bedroom, she stepped outside into the cold night air.

The stars were bright pinpoints of light against the black sky. Vast and endless. She breathed in the cold air. The air, feeling like it reached her lungs for the first time. She felt exponentially lighter. Finally free.

She walked to the wood burner that was constantly burning all day and night this time of year. When she opened the grate door flames flickered against the sky, warming her face. In the pocket of Merle's oversized coat she had slipped back on to go outside, she retrieved the dress she ended up taking from the drawer in her and Sherry's shack. The dress was wadded up, wrinkled and dirty. She stared at it trying to figure out how she felt.

It symbolized five years of her life wasted. It symbolized leaving her family behind to wonder where she was. It symbolized how susceptible a person can be to another's words. It symbolized fear and dread. But all she felt was the relief that it was now over. She tossed it into the fire, the thin fabric quickly eaten up by the flames.

After every visible thread of the dress had burned she slid her hand into her back pocket, retrieving the photo of her parents. Running a finger over them she apologized, whispering _I'm sorry_, the words so incidental and not enough. They floated away along with the smoke from the burner, fading into the air.

* * *

Daryl, along with Michonne and Rick, pulled in moments later as she still stared, mesmerized by the flames. Closing the burner door, she met him halfway and they easily fell into one another. "You a'right?" He asked after a moment.

She nodded against his shoulder, unwilling to let go. "You?"

"I'm great," he said. She looked up at him, skeptical. She just made his life a hell of a lot harder, he'd have every right to be angry with her. But a smile breached his face in the headlights of the Bronco. "You're safe. I couldn't ask for more."

"I'm sorry for everything," she apologized. Again feeling inadequate. How do you apologize for what happened? For what she caused.

The smile slipped a little. "Don't be sorry." Switching gears, he said, "You know I was serious, right? When I said I love you. That I wanna make a life with you."

She shrugged. He could have said anything in that moment to make her drop the knife.

"Well, I do. I love you." He thought he'd always feel ridiculous saying that to someone but to his surprise he didn't. It was easy to say to her.

It seemed important to voice the words now more than ever. To make her believe it.

* * *

Daryl had a busy few weeks after that. He wasn't home often and when he was it was well after dark. It worked out well that Sherry and Dwight agreed to stay with them. Beth wasn't alone and they were able to rest and recuperate without the rush of deciding what they wanted to do next.

Beth waited up for Daryl every night. Sometimes he'd talk about the Sanctuary. Sometimes he didn't have the words. It was a huge ordeal finding everyone places to stay, finding the resources they needed, if they wanted them. Or, in the better case scenarios, aiding in reuniting them with their families. A few people chose to stay up there on the mountain, saying it was their home even without Negan.

It turned out not everyone wasn't as happy there as they acted. Stories of abuse and neglect. Of cold winters without enough clothing or food. Stories from a few women came out about Negan forcing himself on them. They thought it was their duty, as his wife. It infuriated Daryl. No one had any right to anyone else's body.

Some nights, even if Daryl was exhausted, he and Beth clung tightly to each other, taking solace in one another over and over. He needed to feel her goodness. The hope that her presence held. He needed to _feel_ their future.

Tracing warm kisses down his chest and torso she agreed wholeheartedly, she rested her chin on his chest. "So what's next?" She questioned.

The investigation was wrapping up. Simon was in jail. He was the only one they could prove did anything illegal and Negan was dead. Death almost seemed too easy for someone like Negan. On the other hand, at least Beth wouldn't have to testify in front of him should it have ever reached a trial. Daryl's involvement now was more about the people and finding them the help they needed.

He ran a hand over her disheveled hair. "We move into our house," he answered simply.

He was able to sign off on the loan for the house and they had gotten the keys. Beth and Sherry had been painting and cleaning the house, getting it ready. It occurred to him how little he actually owned when they began talking about what they needed for the house, which was just about everything.

He'd been living day to day for far too long. It was time to build a life. A life with Beth.

"Sherry and Dwight might as well stay here. No sense in this place staying empty."

Dwight had gotten a job at the hardware store and Sherry was floundering a bit, deciding what life meant to her now. But she was happy and safe and that's what mattered.

Beth kissed her way back to his lips. "Why you so good to me?"

He chuckled, a sound that was easily one of Beth's favorite sonances. "'Cause I love ya'."

Those words still melted her heart. They came often now. Before he left for work. When they were falling asleep. At the end of a call.

"What about you? What's next for you?" Daryl asked. He was always sure to tell her however much she needed to hear it, that she had a life to live now. Yes, a life that included him, but also one beyond him.

* * *

**Don't worry, I'm not finished with this one yet. We still got a bit more to go. Thanks again for reading. **


	29. Roots

_**I really hope this makes sense because my brain is FRIED. I can't believe I wrote a fic that lasted this long. Thank you all so much for reading and commenting and sharing and sticking with it even when it was a hot mess.**_

_**A couple of notes:**_  
_**I wanted to do more with Rick and Michonne but couldn't make it work without taking too much away from Beth and Daryl. Same with Jesus. I wanted to write more about him being gay and how living like he was straight having a factor on his alcoholism. But again, I didn't want to veer too far away from Beth and Daryl.**_

_**Thanks again so much for reading!**_

* * *

"You ready for this?" Daryl asked Beth, moving a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. They sat in the truck in the driveway of the Greene family home. It was just as she remembered it. Well worn and loved.

Memories flooded her.

She fell from the tree in the front yard and broke her arm. She and Shawn had been warned not to climb so high but they hadn't listened. They thought they would be in trouble so they tried to hide it. Thinking back on it she saw how ridiculous that had been but to a ten and twelve year olds it seemed like they had a chance of pulling it off. The memory brought a smile to her face. They hadn't gotten in trouble of course but abided by the rule from there on out and didn't climb so high once Beth's cast came off.

She'd spent hours in the barn helping with the animals, the horses being her favorite. Hours spent bailing hay under the hot sun. Swimming in the creek out back. She and Shawn rode their bikes up and down the dirt lane what amounted to probably a million miles. Then when she got older, she snuck out of her bedroom, shimmying down the lattice to meet up with friends to drink and smoke pot. To hook up with anyone that showed her the littlest bit of attention only to vaguely remember the next morning what happened.

She honestly couldn't think of one bad memory up till she became an anxious and depressed teen and those bad memories were because of herself, nothing her parents had done.

"Yes and no," she answered honestly. It'd been two weeks since Glenn told her who he really was and about a week since she regained her memory.

She'd gone over all the scenarios in her mind ad nauseam. Keeping it a secret was out of the question. It wasn't fair to them or to Glenn. She could have also asked Glenn to tell the family that she is alive but doesn't want contact. That was just as unfair.

She wanted so badly to see them. To hug her mother. To meet her niece and nephews. To tell her father how much she'd missed him and his wise talks. She wanted desperately to apologize to every single one of them for the pain she caused.

What if they were angry at her, which they had every right to be. How does a family get past this? She had no answers, only questions. Only 'what-if's'. The not knowing might drive her as crazy as knowing even if she risked it ending badly.

There were four other cars in the drive. They'd generously offered, through Glenn who had become the go-between between her and the family, to only meet with Annette and Hershel first so as not to overwhelm her but she graciously refused.

Daryl reached over the bench seat and took her hand. "It's gonna be fine. They're going to be so happy to have you back, all the past hurts ain't gonna' matter."

"I don't know about that. I hurt them so badly." And her greatest fear, "What if they've forgotten about me and this is going to reopen that wound."

"They didn't forget about you. But no matter what happens, we'll figure it out," he assured, hoping to make her feel better.

His words did help. After all she'd been through she was stronger for it. She'd figure this part out too. She _had_ to.

* * *

Strangely enough, the part that hurt the most was Annette's hesitation when she went to hug Beth upon entering the home. She raised her arms and Beth held her breath, waiting to feel the comforting weight of them around her shoulders but Annette let her arms fall.

Smiling, tears swimming in her eyes, she whispered "Bethany, its… I'm…" Her words faltered.

Annette appeared to be as unsure as Beth. Maybe she had her own mental list of 'what if's'. What if Beth didn't want to be hugged? What if she didn't want to be a part of their life. What if she hates them?

Beth made the first step, bridging the gap between them, Beth wrapped her arms around her mother. Annette quickly returned the embrace whispering, "Oh, Bethany. Are you really here? I must be dreaming!"

"I'm sorry, Mama," her voice was muffled in Annette's shoulder. "For everything."

Annette pulled back and sandwiched Beth's face between her palms. "Hush now. Not another word of that. We all made mistakes. All that matters now that you're here. You hear me?"

She wasn't sure how Annette so easily forgave her. She made it seem so simple. _Everyone messes up. Everyone makes mistakes. No apologies necessary._

The family was patient during Annette and Beth's exchange. After they finally parted, it was a bombardment of hugs and kisses and words jumbled and full of meaning.

Hershel held Beth so tight she couldn't breathe but she didn't care. She'd hold him as long as he held her. "My baby girl. We… _I _missed you so much."

Beth had never seen her father cry. He was as strong as a tall oak with roots buried miles deep. Now tears fell unabashedly down his face. They were not tears of anger. Or even regret. He was genuinely happy to have her there.

And when she hugged her brother she didn't remember him being quite so tall. When she left he was twenty-one and wild as a rank horse. She never thought he'd settle down. Meeting both his fiancé and his newborn, seeing the man he'd become was surreal.

Maggie, who Beth remembered to be stoic almost to the point of being cold, sobbed against her shoulder. Apologizing for every bad thing she'd ever done to Beth dating back to when they were little kids. Her face with red and tear-stained, still as beautiful as Beth ever remembered.

"Maggie, I didn't run off because you pulled my hair when I was five."

The statement struck a funny chord with the sisters and they began laughing. Laughing until they were crying all over again in the way only sisters could laugh and cry at the same time.

"Mama's bein' silly," little Hershel said, standing at his dad's knee off to the side. Anna snug in her dad's arms was oblivious to what was happening she continued to play with a baby doll.

Maggie cleared her throat and wiped her face with the tissue she'd been clenching. She motioned to Hershel to join her. "You're right. I am being silly. Come here buddy, bring your sister." Glenn put Anna on the floor and, taking his sister by the hand, she and little Hershel toddled to Maggie.

"Hershel, this is your aunt Beth."

Beth knelt down to his level. If there was any reminder of just how long she'd been gone this was it. Maggie had created a whole life with a husband and two little human beings during that time.

"Nice to meet you, Hershel," Beth said, voice croaky and small with emotion.

To her surprise the little boy wrapped his arms around her shoulders, freely giving her a hug. Her throat burned, she held back the tears for fear of frightening him with more of her "silly" behavior.

"Wanna play car's with me?" he asked so simply, so sweetly that everyone laughed. Kids tended to take things at face value. She was his elusive aunt. She wasn't there before but she's here now. For him, that's all there was to it.

"She'll play car's with you some other time Hershel," Maggie told him and he shrugged and smiled.

"Promise?" He asked.

"Promise."

"And this," Maggie said as Beth stood again, "is my girl." Anna, shyer than her brother, leaned her head on Maggie's shoulder looking so intently at Beth she thought maybe Anna recognized her. "Anna Beth."

"Anna Beth?" Beth questioned, surprised. They'd named their daughter after her. She'd been gone, life had indeed gone on but she was most certainly not forgotten.

* * *

Daryl slipped out into the back porch for a smoke. After the initial greeting, things had settled and now the kids were playing, the baby was napping after having been practically pried from Beth's arms to lay him down in his bassinet, and the adults were looking through old photos albums. Pictures scattered all around the dining room table where they gathered. Passing photos back and forth. Laughing. Crying. Sharing memories.

It had gone even better than he'd hoped. It was incredibly moving to see them come back together after years of separation. Not just a separation, they thought Beth was dead. It's a second chance not many people get.

He'd never take that from them and he'd never make her choose between him and her family, yet he couldn't help but wonder what this meant for them. She belonged here. They had a lot of healing to do. Being the outsider in this situation, he wasn't sure where he fit, if he did at all.

He slid into a rocking chair, admiring the view. Acres of fields glowing in the sunlight lay out before him. The old barn, a tractor and other equipment parked here and there, three horses were out in the pasture. He lit a cigarette, blowing out the first drag when the screen door creaked and Hershel appeared.

"Mind if I join ya'?" He asked.

"Well, sir, it is your porch," Daryl chuckled and motioned to the chair next to him.

"That, it is. But you brought our girl back to us. So I think that gives you free rein of the porch at least." The man with his kind eyes and white hair smiled.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment or two before Hershel finally spoke up.

"I'm not sure the details exactly, Glenn was careful not to say too much, but it sounds like Beth has been through a harrowing few years."

"She has," Daryl agreed. It wasn't his place to tell the details though, so he kept his response to those two words.

"I was just wondering how you tie into all of this. I know you're the sheriff." Glenn had told him that much. Beth had hesitantly introduced him as Sheriff Daryl Dixon, shyly, her cheeks reddening. His daughter had changed since she'd been gone, that's to be expected, but he still knew his daughter. There was something between her and the sheriff. "You're the man that brought her home. Well, you and Glenn. To that, I'll be forever grateful."

What was he to say? That it's his job? He would have done it for anyone? Yes, he would have helped anyone he found in her position. But he and Beth's relationship went way beyond that of obligation. So his only response was to nod.

"But I gotta say, I think there is more to y'alls story."

Daryl suddenly became nervous and resisted the urge to fidget under the older man's gaze. It occurred to him at that moment that this was Beth's father. The woman he was in love with, the girl he was having sex with. The woman that totally changed the trajectory of his life. He didn't know Hershel, just the bits that Beth had told him. He did know he was a man of God and probably wouldn't approve of their living together. Sleeping in the same bed every night without being married. He didn't want to start things out on a negative note.

"I'm not sure what you mean?" He answered lamely. He'd never had to navigate this situation before. Never dated. Never had to deal with anyone's daddy. He almost expected Hershel to ask him what his intentions were with his daughter.

Hershel starred at Daryl for the longest time, those blue eyes much like Beth's. A knowing glint sparkled in them. "Son, I'm old but I still know love when I see it."

* * *

Annette directed Daryl upstairs when he came back inside, said Beth was in her bedroom. He contemplated leaving her be, maybe she wanted to be alone. His need to make sure she was okay won out and he followed the staircase up and walked down the hall.

He found her sitting on the edge of her bed, clutching a well-loved stuffed bear to her chest. She rocked slowly back and forth, eyes tightly closed. He watched her for a moment standing in the doorway before clearing his throat.

"They left my room exactly how I left it that day." Opening her eyes, she looked at him then around the room.

He nodded. It was as though a young woman had left it that particular morning, expecting to come back a few hours later. The bed was messily made, the blankets thrown over the sheets, pillows tossed on top. There were a couple of magazines on the nightstand. A bundle of bracelets. An alarm clock. A stack of folded shirts sat on top of the dresser like they were waiting to be put away. A large mirror hung on the wall above the dresser with handwritten notes and photos tucked into the frame. A bookshelf was stacked with books and knick-knacks and framed photos.

He sat next to her on the bed, she leaned into him and sighed. "Not a speck of dust though," she spoke flatly. No dust meant Annette had been cleaning it, making sure to leave everything just so for the day Beth returned. Annette never gave up on her. It was comforting and heartbreaking at the same time.

"She came in here and cleaned in hopes I'd come back. For five years."

"Beth, you gotta forgive yourself."

Tears burned in her throat. "How do I do that?" She questioned.

"By living your life. Forging a new relationship with your kin. Moving on to the next thing, whatever that might be. Will beating yourself up, hating yourself, fix anything?"

It was a rhetorical question, one for her to think on, and he could almost see her mind working, trying to navigate through what she was feeling.

"Do you want to stay here tonight?" He asked. "If you need more time." They didn't plan on her staying the night but she might feel differently now and the Greene's probably wouldn't mind having her there for longer.

Her head that was resting on his shoulder snapped up. "No. I want to go home with you. They're my family and this is my home. I can feel it deep in my bones. But you're my family and our house, the house we share, is my home too."

"There's room for both," he said smoothly, kissing her lightly. "You can have roots and wings."

* * *

What was the next thing? Beth really had no idea. Building a relationship again with her family wasn't as hard as she feared. She went to the farm at least once a week for family dinners and she spoke to her parents in between visits. She and Maggie texted or called often. Shawn and his girlfriend were busy with the baby but she still talked to them often.

But the future? _Her_ further? She had no idea what was next. Before the Sanctuary she had been taking college courses in business administration. Even then she had no idea why. She wasn't interested in business in the least. She only did it to make her parents happy, to prove she was fine when in actuality she wasn't. It was the least she could do after what she'd put them though - get a job, go to school, act like a normal person.

Once back from Andrea and Merle' she quickly returned to her position at the bookstore. She enjoyed it just as she had before. The townspeople didn't forget her and were happy to have her back judging by their drop-ins to say hi or to check on her. Well except Connie. She kept her distance which was fine with Beth. If a crazy asshole like Negan couldn't come between her and Daryl then a jealous woman wouldn't either.

It wasn't until one day sometime later, she was at the store unpacking a shipment of new/used books when she came across something that finally sparked her interest.

One of the few highlights at the Sanctuary had been delivering the babies. She was good at it. Calm and confident. Even under situations such as Andrea's, she was able to keep cool and make the right decisions.

She slid the book on midwifery into her bag and devoured every word of it when she was alone. On her new cell that Daryl had given her - when did cell phones get so big, she wondered, as she learned to balance it in one hand and type at the same time with her thumb - she looked up the laws and regulations in the state of Georgia.

According to her research in order to become a certified nurse-midwife she'd have to, of course, go to go to nursing school. The closest college with a nursing program was forty-five minutes away. She'd have to drive back and forth obviously. She still had a valid driver's license and Shawn fixed up her old car for her. The idea of driving that far made her uneasy. She used to drive all over without so much of a thought. Could she do that again?

Driving. Being alone. Going to nursing school seemed out of the realms of possibility. How would she afford it anyway? She absolutely _would not_ rely on Daryl for that money. There were grants and scholarships. She could get a second job.

Quickly she became overwhelmed and so she hid the book away, occasionally bringing it back out to daydream. She'd find a way if it was meant to be. For right now, she'd continue to work at the bookstore, live with Daryl in their new place, continue to play guitar, write and sing, and learn how to just be Beth.

* * *

Daryl stood at the door of a duplex in town, knocked and patiently waited. It was one of those early summer days where the sun shone brightly but the breeze still blew cool. He appreciated this time of year when the air was a little easier to breathe before the blazing heat of summer took over.

Things finally felt settled. Negan and the Sanctuary were behind them. He and Beth were doing good. Better than good actually.

Beth's family were truly great people and they accepted him as one of their own. They spent a lot of time with them at the farm and Hershel and Annette, Glenn and Maggie and the kids, Shawn, and his wife had visited them at the house he and Beth shared. There was always an occasion to be had. Shawn's wedding. Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays. And they were always included.

Sherry and Dwight were doing well and had gone back home to visit their respective families. Dwight mentioned it wasn't easy, their families had a lot of hurt feelings to contend with. Overall they were happy Dwight and Sherry were alive and well.

Shortly after they closed the case on the Sanctuary, Rick and Michonne eloped. She showed up at the station one day with a ring from Walmart and grin as wide as the sky. Mike moved out of the house, finally taking the hint with a little motivation from Rick, and Rick was able to move in. He was working construction regularly and Michonne, unsurprisingly, was a great stepmom to Rick's son, Carl.

Just as he was about to knock a second time, he heard shuffling on the other side of the door before it swung inward.

"Afternoon, Jesus."

Leaning on one crutch, the only remaining reminder of the accident, he appeared perturbed. His mouth was set in a firm frown and his shoulders were hunched.

Daryl had made quite a nuisance of himself since Jesus was released from the hospital after the accident. He made sure he had everything he needed. He and Beth brought him food, groceries, leftovers. Took him to doctor's appointments. Hung out with him.

Jesus was appreciative but today was a Tuesday and he wasn't too fond of Tuesdays. It was the day of the week when Daryl took Jesus to an AA meeting.

Getting him there was the hard part, once they got there though, he loosened up and went from being slumped in the metal fold-out chair, pouting like a two-year-old, to listening. He then started joining in on the conversation and working the program.

It was the least Daryl could do for Jesus. Shortly after that fateful day at the Sanctuary, Daryl confronted Jesus. Told him that he knew he didn't drive off the road that night because he was drunk, showing Jesus the picture of the car with the beat-up bumper he found under the tarp at the Sanctuary. The car was registered in Simon's name. Sure, anyone could have been driving it but he had a hunch Simon was behind Jesus' accident.

After showing Jesus the photo, the look on Jesus' face told Daryl everything he needed to know. Jesus tried denying it, afraid of what repercussions there might be. He was still weak from the accident, emotionally scarred. Plain and simple, he was scared, though he wouldn't outright admit it to Daryl. It was finally Beth that convinced him. She told him how she faced Negan. She didn't expect it to end quite the way it did, ultimately she was glad she'd faced her demons.

Jesus relented, eventually recounting what happened. Jesus saw Simon forcing Dwight into their car the night Dwight and Sherry tried to escape. He stopped his truck, asked them if something was wrong, asked if anyone needed help. Jesus quickly realized something was very wrong when Simon pulled a gun on him. He took off and Simon chased him down, hit his bumper forcing him off the road and subsequently causing the wreck that almost killed him.

He agreed to identify him, aiding in the state's case against Simon. Because of Jesus, Simon would be in jail for a long time. In a strange turn of events, Simon pled guilty - something about atoning for his sins - to that and a whole other host of less severe crimes tied to the Sanctuary,

Daryl wanted to be sure Jesus didn't fall down the hole of alcohol again, so, every Tuesday he showed up on his doorstep at a quarter after two in order to make it to the nearest meeting by three.

"Ready?" He asked. He noted Jesus was already wearing his jacket. Progress, Daryl thought. Progress.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Jesus mumbled.

* * *

Just as it happened in the previous weeks, Jesus was in a much better mood having the meeting over with and on the way back to town he was more talkative.

Sometimes they'd stop for an early dinner. Sometimes they go to the grocery store if there was something specific Jesus needed. Sometimes he'd come home with Daryl for the evening to hang out with him and Beth. Today Daryl had something else in mind.

"Where are we going?" He asked when Daryl got off at the wrong highway exit.

"I got an errand to run," he answered vaguely.

Daryl wound his way through the town and found the shop he was looking for, parking in one of the angled spots in the front. He shut off the engine but didn't make a move exit the Bronco.

Jesus looked out the windshield, reading the wording etched into the front window of the store. He leaned back and whistled through his teeth. "Told ya," he said smugly.

Daryl peered at him out of the corner of his eye. "What the hell you talkin' 'bout?".

Jesus pointed to the store they sat in front of. The name Dale's Jewelers practically screamed at them.

Smiling for the first time in months, Jesus said, "I told you that you were going to marry Blondie."


End file.
